


Walking With A Ghost

by kcstories



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Narcissa Black Malfoy, Canon Divergence, Drarry, Faltering Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Getting (Back) Together, Ghost!Fred, Happy Ending, M/M, Past Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Pre-Severus Snape/Hermione Granger - Freeform, Scorbus pre-slash, Severus Snape Lives, epilogue kids, flangst, hint of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-25
Updated: 2010-10-07
Packaged: 2017-10-06 16:41:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 83,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kcstories/pseuds/kcstories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Albus and Scorpius' third year at Hogwarts. Life isn't going too well for their respective fathers, but Albus intends to change that. Soon unexpected help arrives in the shape of a ginger-haired ghost and a man who's been presumed dead for over two decades.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** The Potterverse is JKR's, not mine, and the title of the story was taken from the Tegan &amp; Sara song by the same name. This story was written for fun, not profit.  
> **Pairings:** Harry/Draco, Neville/Pansy, Ginny/Blaise. (faltering Harry/Ginny; past Draco/OFC; past Ron/Hermione; Albus/Scorpius close friendship/pre-slash, and others.)  
> **Warnings:** Some AU/non-canon elements, flangst, angst, slash, snark, strong language and infidelity/adultery.

"My dad _really_ doesn't like your father very much," Albus Severus Potter—just 'Al' to his friends, of which there are many—states in that usual matter-of-fact way he so often uses and which never fails to make his best mate Scorpius Malfoy wonder if, perhaps, the Sorting Hat made a huge mistake three years ago, because, well, what on earth is Harry Potter's ever spontaneous and regularly blundering son doing in Slytherin House anyhow?

The boy possesses the keen observation skills of a random Hufflepuff as well as all the tact of the average Gryffindor, which results in a rather unfortunate combination that's not often seen and rarely appreciated in the Snake Den.

"So what else is new, Potter?"

Scorpius smirks, shakes his head, and goes back to his Potions essay that, to his grave dismay, is nowhere near finished yet.

Sadly, he didn't inherit his father's natural flair for the subject and has to work harder than even Albus, but he'll do his utmost not to let Professor Granger down and greatly embarrass his father at the same time.

Meanwhile, Al prattles on relentlessly. "They were bitter rivals before the war, and even during, it took a long while before they even—"

"Oh Circe's tits, Potter!"

Irritated, Scorpius throws down his quill. Soundlessly, it lands on the desk. "Yes, I _know_ all that," he snaps. "You've already said so—gosh, what, a thousand times before? So if you have something important to add this time around, if you actually have a point to make for a change, could you please get to it before we both run the risk of missing our Leaving Feast?"

"Well, er—"

Albus frowns. He's used to his friend's outbursts by now, but that isn't to say he appreciates them or even considers them justified. Honestly, Scorpius can be such a temperamental git at times, and more often than not, without good reason.

"I was thinking," Al finally continues, determined to get this out, "you and me, we get along so well, so why can't _they_; really?"

Scorpius rolls his eyes. "Life really is all black and white to you, isn't it? You have to realise, Al, you and I are very different from our respective fathers. For one thing, we don't have some nasty, hateful history standing between us like a mile-high barricade."

Scorpius doesn't need to add that this history, the one his father pigheadedly refuses to elaborate on, is the main reason why Scorpius isn't allowed to ever visit the Potter-Weasley residence, in the same way Albus isn't welcome at Malfoy Manor, where Scorpius has been living with his father ever since his parents' divorce.

Yes, both boys are well aware their parents don't approve of their friendship, though this hasn't managed to split them apart yet. Try though they might, neither Harry Potter nor Draco Malfoy has any authority at Hogwarts. Here, Headmistress McGonagall's word is law.

"I know." Albus shrugs. "It's just that—well, your father doesn't get out much, you said, and my dad seems pretty lonely lately."

Scorpius frowns, oddly intrigued all of a sudden. "How do you mean, 'lonely'?"

"Er, he could use a friend, I reckon."

"He's friends with the _Weasleys_, though, isn't he?" Scorpius tries his utmost not to pronounce 'Weasleys' as one might a synonym for 'turds', but it's an uphill struggle to go against one's upbringing, so he only half-succeeds.

"Yeah, but—" Al swallows hard. "The thing is, he's been avoiding them lately."

"Oh?"

"Because of mum, you see. She's been—" He bites his lip and hesitates, unsure whether to say more. It's quite possible he has already said too much as it is.

"Go on."

"Um, you won't—" he clears his throat nervously. "This stays between the two of us, right?"

"How dare you even _ask_ that, Potter? As if I'd ever broadcast your secrets around the school. Give me some credit, would you?"

"Er, yeah. Sorry." He gives a small, rather goofy laugh and then says in a more serious, almost solemn tone, "She's been exchanging Owls with some bloke called Zabrinski or Zobroni or something, and I think she's been meeting with him too while dad was at work. You know, in secret, like."

Scorpius' eyes grow impossibly wide. "You don't mean _Zabini_, do you? Blaise Zabini?"

Al furrows his brows in concentration. "Yeah," he says after a few moments' consideration. "Yeah, that's the one."

"Oh God." Scorpius runs a hand through his wavy, blond hair. "That's er… not such brilliant news."

"Why?" Al asks, clearly concerned. "You know something, don't you?"

Scorpius hesitates.

"Come on," Al insists. "I tell you everything, don't I? And if it's something important, isn't it kind of your duty to let me know, with you being my best mate and everything?"

"Right." Scorpius takes a deep breath. "That Zabini bloke is a pretty close friend of my father's. He came over one day during the Christmas Hols and I overheard him and Father talking. Zabini kept going on about this hot piece of skirt—er, his words not mine, some redhead he'd known back at school. I won't repeat what he said exactly, Al, because, well—it was sort of rude."

Al swallows nervously and gives a small nod in understanding. He's no expert where people and relationships are concerned, but he definitely knows enough to comprehend what his friend is trying to say.

"Anyway," Scorpius continues, "all the while, Father just sat there, feigning interest and Zabini; well, he's dead serious, apparently; he's really interested in pursuing your mum."

Al looks down at his hands and studies his cuticles. "Scorp," he begins softly, "when did you—when did you first realise there was something amiss with your parents; that things weren't right between them anymore and that they might be splitting up? How could you tell?"

Scorpius shrugs. "_Maman_ moved out when I was still a toddler, and a little after that, Father and I went to live at the Manor. I don't actually remember my parents being together. So I can't help you with that, sorry."

"Oh," Al utters dejectedly, and then goes on to ask, "Does your dad have a lot of friends?"

"Hardly." Scorpius shakes his head. "Zabini and Pucey are the only ones who ever visit, unless Grandmama insists on having other guests over. Father rarely leaves the grounds. He mostly keeps to himself and often locks himself in his study for some reason."

"Sounds like he could use a friend too, then," Al points out.

Scorpius can't help but chuckle at that. "I hear where you're coming from, Potter, but I seriously doubt that would work. It'd be 'hello' and straight into battle."

"Yeah, but at least if they fight they won't be so… _passive_ anymore. You know, sometimes my dad acts like he'll be turning four hundred, not forty, in a few years."

Scorpius frowns. His initial reaction is to retort with some snarky remark, but somehow, for reasons he can't quite put his finger on, his friend's words strike a chord. So he thinks them over carefully until he has to admit that yes, his father could definitely do with some cheering up, or some pulling out of his shell, or well… _something_ to snap him out of his solitude.

"You know, Al," he says, "I think you may be on to something there."

Al grins.

"And am I to assume you also have a plan to go with it?"

Al's grin turns devious and positively Slytherin. "Don't I always?"  



	2. Chapter 2

"Your dad's going to kill you for certain, you know," Scorpius says matter-of-factly.

"Maybe." Albus smirks. "And what do you suppose yours is going to do to you, Scorp?"

Scorpius shrugs. "Father has no fond memories of the Quidditch House Cup. He won't care or even give it a second thought that we chucked it off a tower. Besides, the _Reparo_ took care of the damage easily enough. No harm, no foul and all that rot."

"Right. We've still got detention, though, and both our fathers have been notified." He grins rather wolfishly. "I expect they'll be putting in an appearance here in the next few days. Damaging school property—and _legendary_ school property at that—is a serious offence, you know."

Scorpius rolls his eyes at his friend, who looks far too smug for anyone's good. "I certainly hope you realise what you've got yourself into, Potter. Personally, I'd have opted for dying of natural causes instead."

Al chuckles, but before he gets the chance to reply, an unfamiliar voice calls out behind them, "So, you lads fancy yourselves as _pranksters_, do you?"

Simultaneously, the boys turn around, only to be faced with a strange, eerie figure that seems to be floating a few inches off the ground and is almost completely colourless, save for the bright mop of red hair.

Albus swallows hard. "U-Uncle George?" he stammers incredulously. "Whatever happened to you?"

"He's too transparent to be your or anybody else' s uncle George, Potter," Scorpius points out reasonably. "I mean, just look at him! He's barely even _there_."

"I am both here _and_ there, thank you very much." Affronted, the figure crosses his arms. He looks Scorpius up and down with a calculating glance. "You're a _Malfoy_, aren't you?"

Scorpius crosses his arms as well and stands up straight, trying to look as imposing as he can at his full height of 5 ft 6. "Yes, I am, actually," he shoots back challengingly. "So what of it?"

"You're a feisty one"—the figure chuckles—"unlike your father."

"I resent that," Scorpius says, and brushes off his best death glare.

The figure merely laughs again.

"You're Fred Weasley," Albus suddenly blurts out, "and y-y-you're a g-g-ghost."

"That's right. And you, I suspect, are a son of Harry Potter's, aren't you?"

Albus nods slowly. "Ginny's my mum," he offers softly.

"You're the spitting image of what your dad looked like at your age. Your specs are nicer than his were, though, and I don't think he had freckles. What you're doing with the Malfoy spawn remains a bit of a mystery, however… And _Slytherin_? Oh boy, I'll just bet some people had kittens when they heard about that. Bugger, all the fun you miss out on when you're dead…"

Albus smiles. "Yeah, uncle Ron was pretty pissed off. Luckily mum and dad didn't mind at all. My second name is Severus, you know, after someone who was Head of Slytherin House for _ages_, and he was the headmaster too, once, and a war hero, and—"

Albus pauses his rambling to look over at Scorpius, who's still standing there with a murderous expression on his face, and he quickly adds, "Um, I'd really appreciate if you were a bit nicer to my best friend, though."

Fred's eyes widen. "The two of you are best mates, huh? That's certainly not—"

"Oh _there_ you are, boys!"

Another voice is heard in the dim corridor. With swift, determined steps, Hermione Granger strides towards the group. "You do realise, don't you," she says in a sharp tone, "the headmistress is going to be even more displeased with you both if she learns you've been loitering around the corridors? Do run along now, back to your dorm! I'm sure you still have some homework to attend to as well."

"Yes, Professor Granger," the boys say in unison, and hurry back to the Slytherin section.

Hermione shakes her head wearily and then finds herself startled by a disembodied voice somewhere by her left ear.

"Those two rascals are up to something, you know."

"W-What?" In shock, Hermione drops the thick, heavy book she's carrying. With a loud bang, it lands on the floor.

The ghost takes this as his cue to make himself visible again.

Hermione inhales sharply when she recognises the figure in front of her. "Fr-Fred?" she stammers.

"Hello love," he says with a wide smile. "Long time, no see."

Hermione steadies herself against the tapestry-covered wall.

"Now, now, Granger!" Fred snickers. "Calm down and pull yourself together, girl. You look like you've seen a ghost!"

"Oh, very funny," she says, mildly affronted but also a little bit amused.

"I've missed you, you know," he tells her with a sheepish grin. "So, how has our cleverest girl been doing?"

She looks at him then, and is instantly torn between laughing and crying. Eventually, she settles for a bit of both.

"A little better now that you're here, I think," she replies softly.

He smiles. "That's good to hear; very good to hear. So, not intending to be a nosy bugger or anything, but I guess things didn't work out with my little brother, then, if the kids are calling you Professor _Granger_? Or did you keep your maiden name when you got married?"

She shakes her head slowly. "No, I'm afraid…Ron and I were divorced five years ago."

"Oh. Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not particularly," she answers with a small smile, "but I can tell you're curious and probably won't rest until you know what's going on, will you?"

"Well, Hermione, you know what it's like. I'd tell myself to get a life, but that's not really an option right now, for er— obvious reasons, so... living vicariously through others is the only thing for it."

She smiles. "I suppose—" She takes a deep breath and considers for a moment from which angle to approach the topic without revealing too much or coming across as jaded and bitter.

The sad truth of the matter is Ron expected her to be a housewife, and nothing else, and it wasn't that Hermione didn't want to raise a family with him; she did and she couldn't love their daughter Rose (the first Weasley to have ever been sorted into Ravenclaw) or their son Hugo (a Gryffindor just like his dad) more dearly if she tried… But on the other hand, she never assumed she'd be forced to bury all her other dreams and ambitions. She wanted more from life than to merely be a wife and mother, and this, it soon turned out, was a completely foreign concept to Ron and even to Molly when Hermione tried to broach the subject with her.

She's not certain how to explain all that to Fred without inadvertently insulting his mum in the process though, so she finally settles for: "Ron and I wanted different things from life, had different goals for the future, and in the end, unfortunately, we were less compatible than we thought we'd be, so we called it quits."

"Shit happens," Fred says with a shrug. He doesn't look particularly surprised.

Hermione nods with a small smile in return.

"So, what are you teaching now?" he asks, tactfully changing the subject.

She grins. "Potions, would you believe?"

"Really?"

She nods. "It's more fun and a lot more rewarding than I thought it would be. You know, Professor Snape always pushed me extra hard, a lot more than the other students, and of course I wanted to prove I was just as good as his Slytherins. I guess it paid off. Though there's still a lot more I'd like to learn. I'm hardly in his league, not even close yet. But I ordered some new books the other day, all the way from London. They should be delivered here soon."

"Even after all these years"—Fred shakes his head in amusement—"still the same old Hermione."

"No," she says, "not quite the same yet, but I'm working on it." She smiles, feeling her spirits lift slightly. "So, how about you, Fred? How did you end up here, of all possible places? And why?"

Fred frowns. "Not sure, actually. One day—couldn't have been more than a week ago, I reckon—I woke up and here I was, back at Hogwarts. Maybe it's fate?"

Hermione shakes her head and smiles.

"Aw, such a sceptic, Granger. Even now. Don't you believe in fate?"

"Honestly, I don't know what to believe in anymore," she says and the words come out far more solemn than she intended them to.  



	3. Chapter 3

Harry sighs wearily as he rereads the letter for the fifth time.

All things taken into account, he supposes sooner or later, he should have expected something like this. Perhaps he should even be grateful for all those months of respite before the proverbial shit finally did hit the imaginary fan.

After all, according to his son James—and even Rose Weasley, who generally considers herself above gossip and particularly gossip about _family_—Albus Potter and his unlikely best friend Scorpius Malfoy are generally to be found at the centre, if not the root, of the mischief.

Some people don't hesitate to compare the inventive duo to the Weasley Twins even, albeit with an extra helping of Slytherin cunning thrown in for good measure. Harry isn't entirely sure how he feels about that. As a student he might have been amused, but he's a parent now, which makes this whole situation considerably less funny.

Still, if he's completely honest with himself, his son's antics aren't the only thing bothering him. Weighing equally heavy on his mind, if not even more so, is the matter of Draco Malfoy.

If Harry received such a letter from Headmistress McGonagall, certainly Draco must have been sent one too, with a similar invitation, which means that the two of them are bound to meet soon, and when they do, they will undoubtedly be expected to communicate as well.

Harry shakes his head. Up until now, he has managed to avoid this type of scenario, but he should have known his good fortune would run out eventually.

He grits his teeth, distraught to realise that even after all those years, it still doesn't hurt any less. The history he shares with Draco continues to sting whenever he's forced to think about it either due to outside circumstances or because certain memories simply won't stop haunting him.

It all began on a summer's night, right in the middle of the war...

  
******

  
_Biting his lip, Harry glances over at Hermione and Ron, who are snuggled up together under a blanket at the other side of the tent._

_Usually, his best friends make a point of not getting too affectionate around him, but today has been exceptionally gruelling._

_The sight of the cuddling couple makes Harry's heart clench painfully, but he doesn't want to be unpleasant and burden them by telling them how lonely he really is._

_It's not their fault, after all, and he shouldn't begrudge them this little morsel of happiness, or in the middle of this horrific war that has already claimed so much from everyone, deprive them of a rare chance to find some comfort and reassurance in each other's arms._

_Besides, if he did show his feelings of devastation, Ron and Hermione would only start talking about Ginny, and this isn't about her at all._

_Certainly, he has to admit that if she were around, it would help soothe his loneliness, but only slightly and just for a little while, for he has long realised that she's not capable of filling that vast emptiness inside of him. Honestly, he doesn't know whether anything or anyone ever will be. He's beginning to think that perhaps he was always meant to be a solitary creature._

_He takes a deep breath and shakily rises to his feet, in dire need of some fresh air._

_He wanders outside, hoping to maybe bump into someone to have a chat with, to help take his mind off things, or perhaps he'll find a nice spot to sit and watch the stars and wait for the sun to rise again._

_When he passes Malfoy's tent, he sees that there's still a light on inside. 'Malfoy isn't afraid of the dark, is he?' Harry wonders briefly, but soon decides that's a ludicrous notion._

_He steps closer and notices some movement inside. No, Malfoy definitely hasn't retired yet._

_"Stop dallying about, Potter," an amused voice calls out from within. "Either come inside or bugger off, but don't just keep standing there like some kind of peeping Tom."_

_Harry suddenly feels himself blush. "Er, right— Er, okay," he stammers._

_Draco looks up from his reading material and smirks at Harry, who's now standing a few steps away. "It's some Muggle history book Granger lent me," he offers for no apparent reason. "Not the most riveting piece of non-fiction I've ever come across, but it helps pass the time."_

_"Ah." Harry shuffles his feet nervously. "Er, how did you know it was me just now?"_

_"Well, I could distinguish your profile quite clearly with your hair sticking up at odd angles, those daft glasses, not to mention that clumsy way you're always pussyfooting about, even now."_

_"Ah." Harry grins sheepishly. "Er, right."_

_"So, what exactly brings you here, Potter?"_

_"Well,um…"_

_Draco puts his book down and moves to sit in a cross-legged position. "Yes?"_

_Harry takes a deep breath, opens his mouth and starts talking, and once begun, he soon finds he can no longer stop. A flood of words spills forward, and not before long, bitter, desperate tears follow. And Harry would be embarrassed, thoroughly ashamed of himself, if it weren't for the fact that he's already too far-gone to care. He has lost the strength and the will to fight too, especially against himself._

_He wipes his eyes with the back of his sleeve and then unexpectedly, he feels slender arms snake themselves around him and hold him tight. Malfoy's—no, Draco's arms, and Harry supposes that this shouldn't feel right or comfortable but it does…_

_Merlin, how it does..._

_Harry takes a small step backwards and looks at him, utterly bewildered. "I-I," he begins. "You er—"_

_"What, Potter?"_

_Harry takes a deep breath and gazes into grey eyes that he's scared to meet sometimes because they give him this strange, fluttering feeling in his stomach and he's beginning to understand why. He used to feel this way around Ginny too, but he doesn't any longer. He hasn't for a long time, and now more than ever, he's confident that breaking up with her was the right thing to do._

_"Po—Harry?" Draco whispers, his breath ghosting over Harry's lips. So close, Harry thinks, and yet nowhere near close enough._

_"What is it?" Draco asks again, his tone still gentle but also a little more urgent this time. "What else is wrong?"_

_Harry notices that the boy looks genuinely concerned, but also nervous, though not scared, exactly, more like… he's anticipating something._

_"I—" Harry begins, but he can't finish for he hasn't the right words. Instead, he leans closer, and impulsively, he kisses Draco in a way that's a little clumsy but mostly determined._

_For a moment, Draco seems to freeze and Harry's scared, terrified, but then the boy responds, timidly at first, as if he's testing the waters, making sure that this isn't some kind of joke to humiliate him because his pride is one of the few things he hasn't yet forfeited._

_Harry's hands move up into Draco's soft hair and the kiss deepens._

_Harry doesn't know for how long they stay there, or even when or how they make it to the bed._

_They share plenty of lingering kisses and gentle caresses that night, but nothing more. They're both too shy and inexperienced to take things further, and when fatigue finally overcomes them, they fall asleep in each other's arms._

_The following morning, they don't talk about what happened. They hug briefly before they leave the tent (Harry exiting ten minutes after Draco does) and then they just go about their business as usual._

_Throughout the day, though he'd never admit as much, Draco is worried, to the point of scared even, that Harry will want to pretend that nothing ever happened, or that he'll chalk it up to stress, the war, loneliness or any other plausible excuse that might spring to mind._

_Draco finally stops worrying a few minutes after midnight, when Harry returns._

_He lets out a relieved breath when he spots the familiar silhouette on the other side of the canvas. He gets up and walks over to the flap. He holds out his hand and says with a shy smile, "Harry?"_

_The boy gives him a small smile and a nod in return. "Hello, Draco."_

_Not many words are spoken on the second night, nor are there on the third, when ardent passion pushes aside all hesitation, nervousness and fear._

_They lie together naked for the first time. With hands and mouths, they discover each other's bodies and with careful, clumsy strokes, they bring one another to completion._

_Afterwards, Harry settles down in Draco's arms again and realises he has never before felt so at peace with himself or as cherished by anyone._

_Thus their 'arrangement' has begun, and somewhere at the back of his mind, Harry realises its life expectancy probably equals that of a snowflake in hell, but that's something he refuses to consider, even when a niggling voice that might just be his conscience keeps insisting he should._

  
******

  
Harry shakes his head and forces his thoughts back to the present, his current, tranquil life where he's married and has three children and is working as a special Adviser to the Auror Department. This is precisely what he has always wanted, isn't it?

_Yes. Of course it is._

He sighs deeply and throws some things into a suitcase.

He leaves a small note on the kitchen table. It's addressed to Ginny, who's currently nowhere to be seen. He thinks she's having dinner with a friend, but he's not fully certain. She's hard to keep track of these days.

Half an hour later, he leaves for King's Cross, and it would be an understatement to say he isn't terribly happy about that.


	4. Chapter 4

Draco takes a deep breath as he slowly puts one foot in front of the other.

It would be the understatement of the decade to say he finds it rather awkward to be back at Hogwarts, a place he didn't really expect to see again this soon, at least not before his son's Leaving Feast.

But as usual, fate has made a mockery of his plans.

He smiles politely—though his heart really isn't in it—at the woman who leads him into the small sitting room. She must belong to the new administrative staff, he decides.

The school has moved with the times. Apparently they even have a computer somewhere. Draco can't help but wonder how they ever managed to get it working without electricity. Perhaps he'll enquire about it later, if he remembers to.

Head held high, he enters the room and tries not to gulp when he recognises the person already seated there.

_Harry Potter._

Draco hasn't laid eyes on him since they passed each other briefly at King's Cross a few months ago.

They see each other there every year on the first of September, when the children need to take the Hogwarts Express, and Draco generally nods at the Potters, because it's the civil thing to do, but he hasn't spoken, really spoken to Harry in a long while, not since that devastating morning all those years ago.

******

_"Y-You're actually going to move too… with your parents.. t-to France?"_

_"That's right, Potter. My family name has been tainted. There's nothing left for me here in Britain, except humiliation, mockery and disgrace. Not to mention, the Ministry bluntly refuses to release the Manor. Father is fast running out of patience with the whole sad lot of them."_

_Harry's eyes widen. "B-but what about—" He takes a deep breath and finds himself at a complete loss for words. He can't really say 'what about us?' because neither of them has ever spoken about commitment, or even love. Harry's rubbish at that sort of thing, whereas Draco…_

_Draco has yet to learn and experience that pride isn't necessarily a virtue all the time. "Please, don't look at me like that, Potter," he says, his voice dripping with disdain. "You were in an excellent position to change things for the better, make life a little easier for my parents and myself, but instead, you chose to sit back and do sod all."_

_"Draco, there was nothing I could've—"_

_He shakes his head in disgust. "That's a load of utter nonsense and we both know it. You're the great hero of this war and I'm quite certain all you had to do was to snap your fingers and everything would have been settled, and consequently, my family wouldn't be forced to leave. We wouldn't be at risk of being persecuted or assassinated or shunned or a combination of all three."_

_"Draco, my hands were tied. There was so much hard evidence, especially against your father, and other charges from way back that—"_

_""Right." Draco rolls his eyes, throws his cloak over his shoulders and turns on his heel._

_"Adieu, Potter. Have a nice life."_

_Without another word, Draco strides out of the room, two suitcases levitating behind him._

_He never looks back._

******

Harry looks up and struggles not to appear startled at the sight of the person who just walked in.

"Potter," Draco says offhandedly before taking a seat.

"Malfoy," Harry replies automatically, and tries desperately to suppress the sudden and rather embarrassing urge to flee the room.

For a full twenty minutes—which seem like an eternity—the two men remain there, waiting in awkward, painful silence until Professor McGonagall finally appears.

Harry notes that her office hasn't changed much since Dumbledore and later Snape was in charge.

"Mister Potter, Mister Malfoy,"—in true form, the headmistress gets straight to the point—"though it pleases me greatly to see how silly schoolboy rivalry has managed to skip a generation, I can't say I'm terribly impressed with the way Albus and Scorpius have been conducting themselves of late."

Both Harry and Draco nod remorsefully. They can't exactly disagree with that sentiment.

"Does either of you know," she goes on to ask, "what may be the cause of the recent decline in their behaviour? Of course"—she gives a small smile—"those two have always been quite feisty, but I fear we've reached the point where things are fast getting out of hand."

Draco nods once more. "So what do you suggest?" he asks, relieved that his voice sounds neutral and that nothing in his body language reveals precisely how nervous Potter's presence is making him.

Professor McGonagall appears thoughtful. "Before I can make any type of suggestion, I have to ask: is there anything that might be provoking the boys' recent bad attitude? I don't mean to pry, but… is there some kind of trouble at home, perhaps?"

Draco frowns. "Scorpius' home life is perfectly stable, thank you," he says curtly. "If anything is troubling him, I can only assume it's the questionable influence of the Potter boy."

Harry flinches. So Draco still has the ability to make his last name sound like a degenerative disease, and why does this even surprise him?

"My son is hardly a questionable influence on anyone," Harry snaps. "Who knows, maybe it's the other way around? Maybe Scorpius has inherited his father's nasty tendency to taunt and provoke people?"

"Please, Potter. Before you start hurling insults in my general direction"—Draco smirks—"we both know you've never been a choir boy by any stretch of the imagination."

Harry blushes bright red and hopes with all his heart that the headmistress concludes it's simply out of anger. She never knew about his 'arrangement' with Draco. No one did, even though Harry assumes Hermione must have suspected something, unless she was too distracted at the time, by the raging war and with Ron.

"Gentlemen," McGonagall cuts in, "arguing amongst yourselves will not bring us any closer to a solution. I suggest we meet again in the morning, with both boys present, and then we can get to the root of whatever has caused this unfortunate development and determine a suitable punishment for them both."

"Okay," Harry says with a sigh and Draco gives a curt nod.

They get up and leave the office and the headmistress watches them with great concern.

It unsettles her deeply how defeated Harry Potter looks, and Draco Malfoy…

He appears prouder than she has ever seen him, but it's not the healthy sort of proud, she decides. He's full of the kind of pride that precedes a great fall, and she doubts whether he has anyone in his life who might be able or even willing to catch him.

  
******

  
Draco sighs. He realises he should feel right at home and quite comfy here, in a guest room down in the dungeons, not far from where Snape's quarters used to be, but nonetheless, he finds himself unable to catch even a wink of sleep.

There are too many memories running through his head; along with too many worries and entirely too many regrets.

He climbs out of bed, changes into his casual robes and wanders outside, hoping that some fresh air will make him feel a little better.

He wasn't looking forward to coming here, that much is true, but he never expected a brief visit to be quite this painful either.

He never returned to Hogwarts for his seventh year. Instead, he had a private tutor in France, which was a lot more practical, and also helped him avoid certain things, and certain people.

Especially people like Harry Potter and to a slightly lesser extent, a few of the purebloods who still held a quiet but tangible grudge over his sudden change of allegiance. When all was said and done, there was clearly very little loyalty amongst snakes.

Draco slumps down onto a bench

For the first time in a long time, he feels a strong urge to cry, and scream.

He has tried so hard to forget and to put everything behind him.

He still tries.

Every single day, he buries himself in Potions research, writing, charity work, and anything else he can think of that keeps his mind busy but doesn't require him to mingle with other people.

He's become something of a recluse in the past decade, and that might be funny considering how confident he used to be once, but it's not.

Draco clenches his fists and chokes back a sob.

He knows he didn't have much of a choice after Scorpius' antics, but still…

He never should have come here.


	5. Chapter 5

"I suppose that could have gone a lot worse," Scorpius says and gives his friend a conspiratorial wink.

Albus nods slowly. "Yeah, but I have to say, though, that forest creeps me out. I've heard that it's got werewolves and other dangerous creatures."

"Hm." Scorpius looks thoughtful. "You could try telling them you're Harry Potter's son. Maybe that'll scare them off?"

"Oh?" Albus frowns. "Do you really think that would do the trick?"

"Probably not," Scorpius replies pointedly, "but give it a try anyway; maybe they'll fall over and die laughing."

"Oh very funny, Malfoy. Really."

Scorpius grins, his grey eyes twinkling with mischief. "I do try."

"Prat," Albus says and punches his friend on the arm. "Anyway, where are our dads now?"

"In the teachers' room, I think; talking."

"By themselves?"

"I guess so."

"I wonder what they're saying." Albus sighs. "Hopefully we're not going to get punished any further."

"Well, there's only one way to find out," Scorpius says. He grabs Albus' arm and practically drags the boy back up the stairs.

They halt in front of the door and try to make out what's being said inside the room.

"Stupid solid wood," Scorpius grumbles.

"Wait. Try this," Albus says. He takes an Extendable Ear out of his robe pocket. "Here. This should work."

Scorpius shakes his head in amazement. "Where on earth…?"

"I bought it at uncle George's shop last summer," Albus replies. "I figured it might come in handy some day."

"Resourceful little blighter, aren't you, Potter?"

Albus just grins and shrugs. They carefully place the Extendable Ear against the door, lean in closer and listen attentively.

The first thing they hear is Draco Malfoy's angry voice. "That's really not my problem, Potter."

"Look," comes the almost pleading response, "our boys are clearly good friends, have been since first year, and maybe if you and me and our respective families weren't so strongly opposed to their friendship, they'd be easier to handle and less rebellious. Obviously they have something to prove, right?"

"Oh, so you propose we _encourage_ their chumminess, do you?"

A deep, weary sigh resounds through the room. "Well, what's wrong with it anyway, Draco? Why shouldn't your son and mine have the right to be friends? I mean, if you and I hadn't—"

"No, Potter," Draco cuts him off sharply. "Don't you even dare go there. You and I were never _friends_. We went from enemies to lovers and back to enemies again and frankly, your friendship doesn't interest me in the slightest, and I can guarantee you here and now and once and for all that I don't want you _or_ that part-Weasel of a son of yours in my life."

"Draco—"

Albus and Scorpius leap back in disbelief and horror. Albus almost drops the Ear and the boys look at one another in complete bewilderment.

"Lovers?" Albus breathes. "P-Part _Weasel_? What the fu—"

"Come on," Scorpius whispers. He takes Albus' hand and in shocked, confused silence, the boys hurry back to the dungeons.

  
******

  
They take a seat on Scorpius' bed. Scorpius pulls the curtains closed and casts a strong Muffling charm.

After what feels like ages, Albus is the first to speak, and when he does, it's barely a whisper.

"Th-They were lovers; Di-Did you know about that?"

Scorpius shakes his head. "No. I was dead certain they'd always loathed each other. They worked together during the war, though, or well—I think they saved each other's lives or something. Father never talks about those days and it seems rude to pry, so I don't."

Albus nods. "Dad doesn't talk about the war either. And he hates it when mum calls him a hero. She says he ought to be proud of everything he did, but he just closes up or quickly changes the subject."

"Hm."

They sit in contemplative silence for a while, until Albus suddenly blurts out, "I didn't even know dad likes blokes too, Scorp. "

Scorpius shrugs noncommittally. "Being bisexual is no big deal," he says. "I overheard Professor Lovegood say once (to Professor Longbottom, I think) that soul mates always manage to find each other in the end, no matter which gender they happen to be in that lifetime. Of course, she's a bag full of odd theories, that one, but anyway, still, your dad and my father"—he shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair—"That part of it is just— bloody hell!"

"Yeah."

For a few long moments, Albus doesn't say anything further, but then, out of the blue, he asks with a frown, "Do you fancy boys as well as girls, Scorp?"

"What?" Scorpius blushes, which is nothing like him generally, but then the question is quite personal and random, and he has to wonder once again why Al is always blurting out things like that. It's not terribly _Slytherin_ of him.

"Why do you ask?" he says as soon as he has regained his composure and he kicks the proverbial ball back in Albus' court. "Do _you_?"

"I- I don't think so," Al mumbles awkwardly. And that's an honest answer, mostly because he has never given the matter a whole lot of thought. Maybe he's just a late bloomer or something, but he has yet to meet anyone, boy or girl, interesting or pretty enough to catch his attention.

Most of his time he spends with his best friend, and that's how it has always been, right from the moment they literally bumped into each other on the Hogwarts Express.

  
_***_

  
_"You're Potter," the blond boy states and it almost sounds like an accusation._

_"Yes, and you are…?"_

_"Malfoy. Scorpius Malfoy."_

_"That's um, different."_

_"Is it indeed,"—with a smirk, he pauses for effect—"Albus Severus?"_

_"Oh." The dark-haired boy frowns in obvious confusion. "You know my name."_

_"Everybody knows your name, Potter. Your father's a hero, or so the legend goes."_

_"Right." Albus' frown deepens, and suddenly he remembers something. "You know, er, Scorpius, I think we're supposed to hate each other."_

_"Follow in our fathers' footsteps, you mean?"_

_"Yeah. Uncle Ron said it's practically tradition; Malfoys and Potters, and Malfoys and Weasleys too—not intended to get along, ever."_

_The blond boy snorts (an odd gesture for someone who seems so posh and sophisticated otherwise, Albus thinks) and gives a small shrug. "Sorry, Potter, but I don't even know you, and as far as I'm aware, you've done nothing to anger or offend me. Call me picky, but I prefer to save my wrath for people who actually deserve it."_

_Albus can't help but chuckle at that. "So, um…" He stretches out his hand. "Would you like us to be friends, then?"_

_Scorpius considers that for a moment before he shakes the proffered hand and replies with a wide grin, "I don't see why not."_

  
_***_

  
Looking back, it's probably funny how it was that simple, and maybe if Albus hadn't ended up separated from his siblings and cousins in the crowd that day, things would be very different now.

Scorpius, however, is glad that they aren't; _very_ glad.

He studies his best friend carefully. The boy is clearly upset, which leaves Scorpius with the conundrum of how to snap him out of it.

Right from their first meeting, Scorpius has always regarded Albus as someone he should take care of, someone innocent and a little clueless, but still mischievous enough to help keep life at Hogwarts highly interesting.

Scorpius grins deviously as a cunning plan begins to form. He clears his throat. "So, Al," he says quite seriously, "do you suppose we should test it?"

"Test it?" Albus frowns. "What the hell are you talking about, Scorp?"

"Our erm… _preferences_. You could kiss me, for instance, and see if you like it?"

Albus looks even more shocked and terrified than he did a few moments previous.

_At least he has stopped thinking about his father,_ Scorpius decides with a smug grin. _So far, so good._

"B-But," Albus stammers, "I've never kissed anyone before."

"Right"—Scorpius raises an amused eyebrow—"and do you suppose I have?"

Albus shrugs. "I dunno. I've never given it any thought because… well, it's none of my business either way really, is it?"

With a devious smile, Scorpius says, "Come here, Potter," and he holds out his arms. "You're not _scared_, are you?"

Hesitantly, Albus scoots closer.

When they kiss, it soon becomes obvious that Scorpius hasn't a clue what he's doing, but then again, the same can be said for Albus.

Where do the noses go, they both wonder, not to mention Al's glasses, and how the hell does one even _breathe_ at the same time?

After an odd moment, the boys break apart again.

"You have to try to relax," Scorpius says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "It's only me. There's nothing to be afraid of, unless you're repulsed by this whole thing and want to stop altogether?"

"Repulsed? By you? No," Albus says quickly. "No, of course not."

"Right. So,"—Scorpius smiles—"if you want us to go ahead with this, let's do it properly, shall we? You have to _relax_, Al."

"Relax. Um. Right. Okay. I can do that."

They kiss again, and it's less odd this time.

Then Albus' eyes flutter closed and feeling Scorpius' arms around him, he thinks that it's not that strange anymore, but more like the most natural thing in the world, and he's actually beginning to enjoy it and he vaguely wonders if Scorpius intends to do this again and—

Suddenly, without warning, a heavy Potions book slides off the bed and loudly lands on the floor.

Startled, the boys pull apart.

"Well, er—" Scorpius clears his throat and smiles awkwardly. "Right."

Albus blushes a deep crimson. He looks down at his lap, but doesn't utter a single word.

Scorpius frowns. He reaches out a hand and tilts up Albus' chin. "Look at me, please?"

When Albus finally does, it's with wide eyes and pink cheeks.

"You liked that, didn't you?" Scorpius puts to him, uncharacteristically blunt.

"I- er—" Albus bites his lip, unsure how to respond.

"_I_ liked it," Scorpius states firmly, though his apparent confidence is only a front.

Why did he have to go and do something like that anyway, he suddenly wonders? Why didn't he even stop to consider that maybe there might be different consequences involved than expected? Consequences like having to face the fact that you think your best friend is 'cute' and that you've thought so for a while.

Damn puberty. And damn his father for putting him up to this.

Well, sort of.

At any rate, if his father hadn't had some 'thing' with Harry Potter…

"Me too," Albus finally admits softly, interrupting Scorpius' uncertain musings. "That was…. pretty nice. So, does this mean…?"

Scorpius shrugs. "I don't know what it means, Al. We're barely fourteen; I've heard that lots of teenagers experiment before they—"

"Is _that_ what this is, what _I_ am?" Albus snaps, clearly hurt. "Some _experiment_?"

"No." Scorpius is quick to reassure him. "Of course not. You're—"

"Yes?" Albus frowns expectantly.

"Well, obviously, you're my best friend, and—"

"And what?"

"Well,"—Scorpius coughs nervously—"not to sound like a sappy git or something"—he swallows hard—"but I think I'd be pretty miserable without you."

"Yeah." Albus gives a small smile. "I would too, I think. Without you, I mean."

They hug and remain sitting there in silence for a while, until Albus asks again, "So what _did_ that mean, Scorp?"

He still feels terribly uncertain about what just happened, and he hopes that his best friend has some kind of answer for him. After all, Scorpius always seems to know everything (or likes to act like he does), so hopefully this is no exception.

"It means…" Scorpius smiles and kisses Albus' cheek. "It means anything we might want it to mean, Al. And we have all the time in the world to figure it out too. "

"We—We're still best friends though, right?"

"Yes." Scorpius ruffles Albus' hair. "Always," he says sincerely, "and no matter what."

Albus rests his head against Scorpius' shoulder, closes his eyes and smiles.

_Always._ He can definitely live with that.

  
******

  
Gritting his teeth and clenching his fists in anger, Harry makes his way back to his guest lodgings in Gryffindor Tower.

He tries to convince himself that he's not disappointed by Malfoy's blatant rejection and decides that he won't spend any time lamenting over this.

After all, none of it really matters.

Not anymore.

Because, let's be fair and honest here, he has known it for years.

He'll never be anything to Draco again, not even a friend. Their past and the terrible, bitter way in which they said goodbye cancel that out, but still…

Harry shakes his head. He is _over_ this, he reminds himself. He has been for years, and so far, he has managed perfectly well without Malfoy's friendship.

And without Malfoy, full stop.

Harry has a decent, rewarding job, a caring family and, of course, a devoted wife whom he loves dearly.

As his thoughts drift to Ginny, Harry frowns.

It's somewhat unusual and even slightly worrying that he hasn't heard from her yet. She hasn't even contacted him to enquire what kind of mischief Albus had been up to for Harry to instantly drop everything and rush off to Scotland.

He walks to the fireplace, says the necessary words, and he's both pleased and relieved to find the communication link open.

Soon the flames move aside and his living room comes into view.

Harry gasps. Nothing in the world could have possibly prepared him for what he sees there...


	6. Chapter 6

With a happy sigh, Albus shifts a little closer to his friend.

They've spent the past hour lying snuggled up on Scorpius' bed, silently mulling over the events of the past few hours and occasionally talking too, though not about anything terribly important.

The kiss has changed things between them. They're fully aware of that, but now that they've had some time to let everything sink in, neither of them minds all that much and besides, it isn't that huge a change to begin with.

They've grown closer, certainly, but it's still comfortable; it's still _them_.

"If you fall asleep and drool on my shoulder, Potter," Scorpius says, stifling a yawn, "I shan't be amused."

Albus chuckles softly before he replies, "And if you fall asleep and start snoring in my ear, _Malfoy_, I won't hesitate to knock your block off."

Grinning deviously, Scorpius is about to retort when suddenly, the deafening sound of an explosion startles them both.

"What the _hell_?"

They leap up, quickly put their shoes on, and hurry out into the Slytherin Common Room.

"What's going on?" Scorpius asks a fifth year Prefect. "Did some moron try to blow up the lab again?"

"No," the girl replies, "I think the noise came from the Tower this time."

"The Tower?" Albus swallows thickly. "Y-You don't mean Gryffindor Tower, do you?"

She nods and without another word, Albus bolts out the door, his best friend following closely behind.

  
******

  
With fast strides, Draco Malfoy makes his way up the stairs.

He doesn't understand why Hermione Granger, of all people, wants to speak to him in some office situated in the Gryffindor section of the castle, of all places, but then her logic has eluded him before, though not nearly as much as her taste in men.

He still can't fathom how someone seemingly so intelligent as Granger could have ever been so daft as to marry a Weasley. At least she came to her senses eventually, even if it took her a few years…

A loud crash shatters his inner monologue and stops him dead in his tracks.

Anyone else would probably be unsettled by such an unexpected, ominous noise, but Draco has long been used to that sort of thing.

It all dates back to his childhood and teenage years, when his father's idea of anger management was the decidedly non-pureblood activity of lining up garden gnomes and blasting them to smithereens using Muggle pistols. Afterwards, at Narcissa's request, the house-elves would always put the poor gnomes back together again, and then the entire ritual would repeat itself whenever Lucius felt the need to get something else out of his system.

After the man's stay in Azkaban, the 'whenevers' were both loud and frequent, and consequently, very little makes Draco jump these days.

Instead, he rolls his eyes in amusement and concludes that Granger teaching Potions is another thing that will only lead to disaster.

Smirking, he can't but wonder about which odd substances she mixed and caused to explode just now and he has to question the reason why she was even carrying out experiments here in the first place.

In a polite tone, he gives the Fat Lady the password and swiftly heads in the direction he assumes the noise originated from.

The next thing he sees is a man he recognises as an older and notably thinner Neville Longbottom rushing towards the room the farthest down the corridor.

Draco sighs deeply as his thoughts drift to Longbottom's wife.

Five years ago, the Herbology Professor married Pansy Parkinson, Draco's one-time best friend and confidante.

Since the war, Pansy has seen the error of her—or rather, her parents'—ways, and yet Draco hasn't spoken to her in decades. He never even made any effort to contact her, and such mostly by his own choice.

In the end, avoiding everything and everyone connected to the past turned out to be so much easier. It saved him a lot of humiliation as well as the painful confrontation with questions he was both unwilling and unable to answer, even to himself.

He passes a large open door where a lot of students are gathered, their mouths agape.

He recognises one of the kids as Potter's oldest son, James, and he wonders whether the boy even knows his father is also in the building.

Where _is_ Potter anyway, Draco wonders? Has he already left?

But what does it even matter either way?

'Stop thinking about sodding _Potter_,' Draco silently admonishes himself.

Another sudden, sharp noise erupts in the nearby distance and the next thing Draco notices is Luna Lovegood, who rushes past him.

Red faced, with her long blond hair in disarray, the woman, who's been teaching Care Of Magical Creatures ever since Hagrid's retirement, looks positively frantic.

Morbidly curious, Draco goes after her. "Harry,"—he hears Granger's voice say—"for Merlin's sake, please, do calm down. Get a grip on yourself."

Stepping closer, Draco can see Longbottom casting spells, one after the other, and soon, Lovegood joins in.

Draco's eyes widen. The last time Potter was in such a state, as far as he can remember, was the day he'd learned of Lupin and Tonks' deaths.

Potter kept on screaming bloody murder that evening, and almost wrecked the makeshift kitchen when he sent cutlery and pots and pans flying in all directions.

Thinking quickly and acting just as fast, Draco grabbed the boy by the arm, and Apparated them both to some deserted Cornwall beach.

There, Harry took out his anger by blasting big holes in some cliffs, until his rage had finally dissipated to a more manageable level.

That night that followed they spent giving warmth and comfort to one another. They didn't do a lot more than hug and kiss, it was nothing like the unbridled passion they'd shared on some of their previous nights together, but oddly enough, Draco had never felt closer to anyone in his whole life than he did that night, with Harry Potter's tears wetting his bare chest and the boy clinging to him as if for dear life.

Things are different now, though, completely different, and comforting Harry (assuming Draco would even want to) is definitely out of the question.

What was it that got Potter in this terrible state anyway, Draco wonders? Not their earlier conversation, he hopes, although that would be almost amusing…

Almost, but not quite, and suddenly Draco feels terrible, overwrought with guilt.

"Dad?" a small voice says.

Stunned, he turns around.

Potter's youngest son is standing there, open-mouthed, staring at his father. Right next to him is Scorpius, who looks equally baffled, and just a little guilty too.

Draco crosses his arms and raises a quizzical eyebrow.

"How did you boys get in?'" Hermione suddenly asks, never taking her eyes off Harry or halting her attempts at calming him.

"Lily gave me the password at the start of the year," Albus mumbles uneasily.

"Strictly speaking, that's not allowed," Hermione says. "You're a member of Slytherin House, Mister Potter, and this is Gryffindor Tower."

"Well, in that case," the boy retorts firmly, "you broke the rules just as much as I did, …Professor."

She frowns. "I beg your pardon, young man?"

"Well, Mister Malfoy was a Slytherin when he was at school here, and _someone_ must have given him the password because the lady in the portrait told Scorpius that she'd just let his dad in. She asked if we were looking for him. Now,"—he takes a deep breath—"Professor Longbottom has been in the greenhouses all day, Professor Lovegood would have forgotten to mention it, so that makes you the person most likely, Professor Granger."

Albus crosses his arms and throws her a look that's both smug and challenging.

Draco bites back a chuckle and briefly wonders if, perhaps, he should be giving the Potter brat a little more credit. Clearly, the boy was sorted into Slytherin for a reason.

"What's wrong with Albus' dad?" Scorpius cuts in, gesturing towards the three teachers gathered around Harry Potter. They're trying their utmost to calm the man down, but so far without any apparent success.

"Something has upset him," Hermione replies, sounding uncharacteristically shrill and rattled, "and unfortunately, he has unleashed some accidental magic as a result."

As if on cue, a framed picture crashes down to the floor.

Neville Longbottom shakes his head in exasperation, while Luna Lovegood continues to make weird movements with her hands.

Albus pales visibly. "That doesn't look good at all, Scorp," he whispers so only his friend can hear. "He trashed grandma's salon like that once. Our Great-Uncle Vernon was strapped for cash and wanted money from us, and when mum and dad refused to give him any, the man started insulting our family and the wizarding world as a whole. He said we were all a bunch of freaks who belonged in a circus and that we were also to blame for the fact that his son married Aunt Fleur's sister and dad, well, dad just sort of lost it then."

Scorpius frowns. He reaches out to place a comforting hand on Al's shoulder and turns to the only person he can call and rely on for help.

"Father, can't _you_ do anything?" he asks. His tone is neutral but his eyes hold a silent heartfelt plea.

"Whatever makes you think that—" Draco begins.

"You two were very close once, weren't you?" Albus cuts in brusquely. His voice has a desperate edge.

Draco blinks. "_What_ did you just say? What kind of nonsense has your father been feeding you about me, Mister Potter?"

"Nothing," Scorpius replies quickly in his friend's stead. "We er— sort of eavesdropped earlier. I know it was wrong and I guess you can decide to punish us for it later, but please, Father,"— he gestures towards the ever-worsening chaos and wreckage in the room in front of them—"please do something, before Albus' dad hurts someone."

Draco sighs deeply. His heart is hammering in his chest as the full implications sink in.

So his son has accidentally found out about his past liaison with Harry Potter, and one of Harry Potter's sons now knows about it too, about the dirty little secret Draco never before dared to share with anyone; not even with his mother, though he supposes she must have suspected something at the time. Mothers, apparently, possess a sixth sense for this type of thing, and Narcissa Malfoy has always been exceptionally observant.

"Father?" This time, Scorpius really is pleading and the sound instantly snaps Draco back to the present.

"Very well," he says and steps forward into the room. He aims his wand and casts the same spell he used back then, whenever Potter was off in his own head and too angry to still be responsive to simple words, actions or even basic stunning spells.

Standing in front of Harry now, Draco grabs him by the shoulders and shakes him roughly; a little more roughly than strictly necessary, he realizes, but then Draco does have a lot to be utterly livid about.

"Stop it, Potter! Get a bloody grip, would you? Before you do some serious harm? Unless you actually _like_ the idea of making the front pages again, this time for blowing up the sodding school?"

Baffled, Harry looks up. "Draco," he croaks out. He drops his wand, throws himself at the other man, and starts sobbing against his shoulder.

Draco swallows hard and awkwardly returns the embrace.

Neville and Hermione give one another incredulous looks, while Luna just smiles in relief.

Albus rushes forward. "Dad?" he says urgently. "Dad, are you okay?"

Harry releases Draco and kneels down to embrace and reassure the worried boy.

Draco exhales slowly, steps back and returns to where Scorpius is standing.

"Thank you, Father," the blond boy says quietly.

Draco only nods, unable to do anything else for fear of losing his composure.

He can't understand why Harry looks so defeated, almost as broken as he looked during the war, and how the devil did that even happen?

"I think it's because of Zabini," Scorpius says softly; a remark meant only for his father's ears.

Draco frowns. "What is?"

"Zabini's sleeping with Al's mother," Scorpius says flatly.

"Scorpius, before you start spreading rumours like that—"

"No Father, you're not getting the message here. That um, 'leggy redhead' Mister Zabini keeps referring to whenever he visits the Manor…"

Draco's eyes widen. "…is Potter's wife?"

"_Yes._ I found out when Al mentioned that Zabini Owls her regularly, and it seems the two of them often meet when Al's dad is at work too. Maybe Mister Potter has found out about it, somehow?"

Draco opens his mouth, but whatever he's about to say is lost in the ruckus of Lily and James bursting into the room, wondering what on earth their father is doing at Hogwarts and what has him so upset.

  
******

  
Hermione shakes her head sadly as she joins her best friend on the sofa.

"Are you absolutely and one hundred percent certain, Harry, that all this isn't some huge misunderstanding?"

He wrings his hands in his lap. "Believe me, Hermione," he replies brokenly, "what I saw wasn't exactly open to interpretation. Unless,"—he smiles wryly—"the two of them accidentally ended up naked and wrapped around each other on my living room couch."

"Oh Harry." She sighs deeply and debates with herself whether to give him a hug, but soon decides against it. He has become quite distant in recent years, not appreciating affection from anyone except Ginny and the children…

_…and Malfoy earlier._ Hermione frowns. "So what are you going to do now?" she asks softly.

"Well, you know me." He sighs. "I can't pretend I never saw—I can't stand… _lies_. The only thing for it, I-I'll have to confront her with this as soon as possible, I suppose."

Hermione nods slowly.

"I can't believe… Fuck! I've lost _everything_."

"No, Harry," she says gently but with conviction. "Not everything. You still have your kids who truly love and adore you, and you have friends who care: me and Neville and Luna; and Pansy's not so bad either, you know. She's changed a lot since our schooldays."

"Yeah, I know." He gives her a small smile, but the gesture is hardly reassuring.

"One thing still puzzles me, though," Hermione remarks.

"What?" Harry asks, and he already dreads the question, for he can sense what's coming. Hermione is too clever and far too inquisitive not to ask.

"Malfoy," she says carefully, "how he was able to stop you, how he got through to you, while _we_ couldn't. It was the most peculiar thing."

"Well," Harry says the first thing that springs to mind and he hopes it will be good enough to convince her: "Malfoy was always my biggest challenger in the past too, wasn't he?"

"I suppose so," Hermione replies.

The truth is that she isn't the least bit fooled, but given her friend's fragile state, she decides it might be best to let the matter drop.

At least for now.


	7. Chapter 7

Harry Potter never shows up for dinner that night and this worries Draco Malfoy considerably more than he's prepared to let on.

Still, proud and stubborn as he is, he never broaches the subject of his former—well, whatever it is that Potter was to him once.

Instead, feeling decidedly out of place in Hogwarts' Great Hall, he shovels his food around his plate awkwardly, until he suddenly senses a piercing gaze upon him.

Curious, Draco looks up to meet his son's questioning glance.

Scorpius smiles in an almost encouraging manner and with one hand, the boy discreetly gestures towards the empty seat across from him and Albus Potter.

Draco sighs.

"Perhaps it wouldn't be such a bad idea if you went over there to sit with your son, Mister Malfoy," Headmistress McGonagall says kindly. "Since you're leaving again tomorrow morning, maybe it would be pleasant for the two of you to spend some more time together?"

Draco grits his teeth. Interfering old crone never misses a beat, he thinks, but he manages to retain his calm regardless.

"Perhaps you are right, Professor," he says after a few moments' consideration, because when he thinks about it, the prospect of having dinner with his son—be it also in the presence of a Potter spawn, is still far preferable to being surrounded by people with whom he has very little to nothing in common, save for a past he'd rather not discuss.

Draco excuses himself and moves to stand. A house-elf carrying a tray immediately rushes forward and together they walk to the other side of the room.

"Hello, Father." Scorpius is practically beaming. "Glad you chose me over those stuffy old teachers over there."

Draco takes a seat and smiles. "Some of them are younger than I am, you realise."

Scorpius frowns. "Yes," he says decisively, "but you look _distinguished_, Father, whereas they… Well, they're just _old_."

Draco shakes his head and smiles his first genuine smile in hours. "For your information, flattery will get you absolutely nowhere, Scorpius Malfoy."

Scorpius grins.

Draco looks at Albus, who's sitting to Scorpius' left.

Blatant distress is written all over the poor kid's face, and Draco prays that such isn't partly due to his own presence here.

He may not always approve of his son's choice in friends, but that doesn't mean he's also trying to chase away the ones he doesn't like, even if he has no qualms about banning them from visiting the Manor.

"Everything all right, Mister Potter?" he suddenly hears himself ask, and he's as stunned by the question as the dark-haired boy sitting across from him appears to be.

Albus nervously clears his throat. He isn't used to being addressed by Scorpius' dad, and certainly not in a kind way.

"Um, yeah, sort of, er—Thank you, Sir," he mumbles, feeling a lot less courageous than he did earlier, before he'd witnessed his dad cry.

It was the first time Albus ever saw his dad in tears, and the experience upset him deeply. After all, his dad is a war hero, who's strong and brave and who without any hesitation would take on the world with one hand tied behind his back; or so Albus thought, up until a few hours ago.

Why did his mum have to go and do such a horrible thing anyway, Albus wonders sadly? Doesn't she love his dad or her kids anymore? Did any of them do something wrong?

Whatever the case, there and then, Albus decides that if Scorpius ever becomes his boyfriend, Albus certainly won't cheat on him. That sort of thing just isn't... nice, and if he ever commits to someone, it will be forever.

"Hm." Draco studies the boy's pained expression, and then he looks at his son.

"Albus' dad is pretty upset," Scorpius says softly. "I was right about Zabin— Well, my suspicions— what we spoke about, I mean, I was right."

"I see," Draco utters grimly.

Albus fiddles with his napkin. "Dad caught them going at it on our sofa," he blurts out, a little louder than what might be considered proper.

Draco flinches at the unwelcome mental imagery, and some of the Slytherin students throw curious looks in the trio's direction. As soon as they catch sight of Scorpius' venomous glare, however, they instantly turn their heads away and go back to what they were doing previously.

"Is it absolutely imperative that you leave in the morning, Father?" Scorpius ventures carefully.

"Can't be helped, I'm afraid," Draco replies. "I have an important business meeting that I truly cannot skip or postpone."

Which is true and Draco is quite relieved that it is, or otherwise he might be tempted to stay at Hogwarts longer, and that's probably the last thing he should do.

If he means to preserve whatever remains of his sanity, he knows he'll have to stay as far away from Harry Potter as humanly possible.

It's already quite unsettling how his son and Potter's son look like cardboard copies of how Harry and himself were all those years ago, be it with one significant difference...

These boys are friends, good friends, real chums, and the way Scorpius sometimes looks at the Potter kid, his eyes filled with obvious concern and something that can only be affection, Draco can't but wonder about how close the two of them really are.

And wouldn't it be bitterly ironic if his son and Potter's son ended up falling for one another too?

"Dad's leaving tomorrow night," Albus offers for no apparent reason, possibly in an attempt to break the loaded silence. "I think he and Mum are getting a divorce."

Draco's hands tremble. He puts his fork down so he won't accidentally drop it. "Isn't that a bit rash?" he asks carefully, struggling to keep his voice even.

"Not to dad," Albus says softly. "Dad can't stand lies, and he has trouble trusting people. He said to me that he's been cheated and lied to for most of his life... Mum definitively knew about that, didn't she? I mean, she must have done and"—he chokes back a sob—"I still can't believe she did that to him, after everything."

Scorpius glares at the Slytherin girl who's staring at them again. When she drops her gaze back into her plate, he reaches out and gently rubs his thumb over the back of Albus' hand. "It'll be okay, Al. Things will be crappy for a while, but everything has a way of working out in the long run."

The boy bites his lip and gives a small nod in response.

Draco feels his heart clench painfully at the sight of the boys' tender interaction.

He doesn't know why he says what he says next. Perhaps because Albus looks so much like Harry, or maybe because Scorpius looks at least as upset as Albus does and Draco can't just sit idly by and watch his son suffer.

"If you require any assistance— legal, financial, anything I can do," he states, "I am only an Owl away."

"Thanks Father," Scorpius says. "We'll keep that in mind, won't we, Al?"

"Yes, thank you very much, Mister Malfoy," Albus agrees with a watery smile.

Draco can only smile back. He tells himself that children shouldn't be punished for their parents' mistakes, and that's the only reason he's even considering helping Potter's son.

_Really,_ it is.

******

"Scorp? _Scorp?_ Are you awake?"

"Hm? What?" Scorpius turns over to see his best friend standing next to his bed. "Well, I am _now_, you prat," he replies with a grin. "What's the matter?"

"I, um"—Albus shuffles nervously from one foot onto the other—"I can't sleep."

"Oh?"

"Do you…er…" Albus gives his friend a hopeful look.

Scorpius gestures towards the empty space next to him. "Would you like to join me?"

Albus nods.

"It'll be a little cramped, though."

Albus shrugs. "I don't mind. It's just that I can't stop thinking about, well…"

"Yeah. Come on, then."

With a grateful smile, Albus climbs into bed next to his friend.

Scorpius closes the curtains, and casts a strong muffling charm on them so as not to wake any dorm mates.

"Were you thinking about your parents?" Scorpius asks softly.

Albus nods. "And about my sister. She was crying so hard earlier. Thank Merlin that James is in the Tower with her. I know he's a right prat to you and me, but he has always taken very good care of Lily."

"So I gather your father told her everything, too?"

"Yeah. Dad doesn't believe in keeping the truth from us. He says doing that only makes things worse in the end."

"Oh. Right."

Albus scoots nearer and rests his head on Scorpius' chest. Soon a long, thin arm is thrown around him and pulling him even closer.

"You don't see your mum a lot, do you, Scorp?" Albus asks a moment later.

"Well, sometimes Maman visits during holidays, usually with lots of presents for me, but no." He shrugs. "Father and my grandparents raised me, mostly. My mother's a very nice lady, but we've never been terribly close. Partly because she's still living in France, I guess."

"You know," Albus says, "I wouldn't want to be told to stop seeing my dad."

"What on earth makes you think that would even happen?" Scorpius asks, genuinely puzzled.

"Well, the Weasley Family is huge, and everyone knows they're warm and hospitable and caring, plus grandpa's quite an important person at the Ministry and dad... well, dad's got no family left aside from us, has he? Plus, everyone can see he's a total mess right now. Not to mention"—Albus swallows hard—"you know, if the courts decide he's unfit to look after me and Lily and James, and I can sort of see why they would right now; his state of mind is only going to get worse, isn't it? And I'm so worried about him, Scorp. If that happens... I'd hate to think—I mean, I'm more worried about him than I am about Lily or James or myself at the moment."

Scorpius sighs and strokes his friend's hair. "Your dad does look pretty rough," he says carefully.

"Um, Scorp, can't your father…?"

"What?"

"Well, he knows solicitors, doesn't he? Qualified members of the legal trade? I mean, your grandfather's the Minister of Magic now! He must have connections, and some kind of influence, and…"

Scorpius smiles. It was quite a story, apparently, the matter of how the Malfoy name was suddenly, almost miraculously cleared, and not long thereafter, Lucius was given a rather remarkable career opportunity; one he grasped with both hands, and he has been a far happier man since. For one thing, the garden gnomes haven't been under siege for quite a while now.

"Well, I can't promise you anything, Al," Scorpius replies, "but Father did say we could contact him should the need arise, didn't he? How about you and me talk about this some more in the morning, and then decide what to do?" He kisses his friend's forehead. "But first, you have to get some sleep. You're knackered, and besides, everything will probably look a bit better after you've had some rest."

"Hm," Albus murmurs. He can feel Scorpius' long, thin fingers in his hair. They're gently massaging his scalp, and the gesture is so relaxing and soothing that not before long, Albus dozes off, feeling safe and slightly reassured that maybe everything will still work out fine in the end.

Scorpius, on the other hand, lies awake for hours, weighing each and every option he can come up with.

He wants nothing more than to fix things for his friend, to mend everything, but clearly so much has been broken that he hasn't even the slightest clue where or how to start.

******

For the second night in a row, Draco can't sleep a wink.

He hopes things on that front will improve once he's back at the Manor, though he has his doubts.

Most likely, he'll spend most of his waking hours thinking about Harry Potter instead.

_Worrying_ about him.

And even feeling concerned about the daft git's youngest son too, the one who seems to be at the centre of Scorpius' universe.

After watching them interact, Draco can't tell whether those boys are as close as brothers or well on the way to building another kind of special relationship.

The kind he, himself, never managed to have with Harry.

And _damn it_, he admonishes himself, it just won't do to be jealous of his own son!

Draco curses loudly. He kicks another stone into the water and watches as it skids across the lake's dark and daunting surface.

"You know, Mister Malfoy, though I must admit that the lack in backbone is hardly a surprise, one would still expect a tad more decorum from someone such as yourself."

Stunned, Draco whips around.

_That voice. Impossible._

Unless—

"S-Severus," he stammers, "are-are you...?"

The tall, lanky figure in front of him smirks. "I'm very much alive, Draco, if that's what you're trying to ask," he says, "and at this point in time, I'm tempted to say, with notably more joie de vivre than you appear to possess at this very moment as well."

"B-But I thought... Y-You—" Draco feels faint. It must be sleep deprivation, he decides, as well as the sheer shock of it all.

"Might I suggest you sit down, before you keel over and do yourself an injury," Snape says dryly.

Numbly, Draco staggers over to the nearest bench.

It happens to be the very same bench by the oak tree where he saw Potter and the Weasley girl kissing once. It infuriated him at the time, and it took quite a while before he understood why.

Severus takes a seat next to him, and Draco inhales sharply before he says, "Why are you—Why didn't you—Why now, after _so_ many years?"

It's as articulate as he can get under these bizarre circumstances, for he doesn't know whether to hug the man for having returned or to hex him within an inch of his life for having stayed away for so long.

Draco runs a trembling hand through his hair and regards his former mentor expectantly.

"My life was over," Severus says matter-of-factly. "Even with all the evidence to clear me of Dumbledore's murder, to the world, I was better off dead. Rogue Death Eaters would be chasing me, the press would certainly have a field day with some hero nonsense—which I would have utterly despised, as I'm sure you can imagine, but worst of all,"—he pauses briefly, as if trying to find the right words—"just because I didn't exactly _assassinate_ Dumbledore, doesn't mean there weren't certain other crimes I did commit. After all, as you will recall, I was a Death Eater for many years, and at one point actually supported and adhered to the Dark Lord's cause."

Draco nods slowly. "So how did you…?"

"Anti-Venom," he replies flatly. "Remember the potions I spoke of in first year, 'to stopper death'? If my memory serves me well, you were one of very few students paying adequate attention that day. Minerva found me near the Shrieking Shack, patched me up per the instructions I'd given her many years before, and then she took me in and hid me here as promised."

"So you've been stowed away," Draco says, barely believing his own eyes or ears, "avoiding the world for so many years."

"Yes. And please don't act as though the concept is completely foreign to you, Draco, since I've heard otherwise."

Draco sighs. "So you still know everything," he says with a tired smile.

"Of course. Did you expect anything else?" Severus smirks smugly.

"I should hate you for this," Draco utters bitterly, "and never even speak to you again, you realise."

"Yes, I understand you completely, but it had to be done, otherwise my present life would undoubtedly resemble a fate worse than death."

Draco frowns sceptically. "So why re-emerge now, after all that time?"

"Frankly, Draco," he replies, "it's getting quite tiresome, watching you and Potter. After over two decades"—he shakes his head—"you still haven't come to your senses; either of you."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Draco snaps, and then it hits him. "You-You knew about us during the war, didn't you?

Severus rolls his eyes. "I'm not daft, Draco, nor am I blind, and I _can_ read minds, remember? During some of the Occlumency lessons I taught him, Mister Potter had some very… _vivid_ thoughts about you."

Draco blushes, despite himself.

"But not to worry," Severus adds dryly, "I tuned out discreetly whenever that happened. There are certain things I do not wish to know about my students under any circumstances, if only because such knowledge might cause me to lose my lunch. The point I'm trying to make, Draco, is that you two were—and continue to be—a pair of stubborn fools."

"So you elected to show up again so you could fix my love life?" Draco is almost amused at the idea. "How very... _Hufflepuff_ of you, Severus."

"No, Draco. I elected to show myself today because you're clearly falling apart at the seams and from what I've seen and heard, so is Potter, and because once up on a long ago, I made a solemn promise to his mother and a similar one to yours."

Draco blinks.

"What do you want and wish for, Draco? Truly _want_ and wish for?" Severus asks.

Bone-tired and extremely fed up with everyone and everything, Draco finds himself unable to reply with anything but the painful, embarrassing truth:

"To get my hands on a Time-Turner, and go back to the night of the victory celebrations and, and—"

"And _what_, Mister Malfoy?"

Draco laughs hollowly. "And drag Harry Potter away from his friends' table, snog the blasted git in front of everyone until he's breathless, and then ask him to marry me."

Severus nods. "So you still love him."

"Yes," Draco answers quietly, and adds in a morose tone, "We all have our cross to bear, don't we?"

Severus nods again. "How are the boys keeping? One of them is partly my namesake, I believe?"

Draco gives a small smile. "They seem to be coping reasonably well, given the circumstances. I suppose you've heard about Ginevra and Zabini?"

"Yes, that was the deciding factor in why I'm even honouring you with my presence at this very moment."

"McGonagall doesn't know, does she?" Draco asks, suddenly suspicious and worried about both his pride and his reputation.

"No one knows, Draco," Severus replies, "and I think we'd both prefer it to remain that way, wouldn't we?"

Draco nods.

"Right then, down to business."

"Business?" Draco blinks.

"Yes. If you truly wish to help Mister Potter, he will need legal counsel, will he not?"

"Yes, most likely, if he goes through with the divorce and Ginevra doesn't succeed in winding him around her little finger again."

Ignoring his companion's bitterness, Snape continues, "In that case, submit to Miss Granger the information required; namely, the contact details of your most competent legal advisor, but refrain from doing so personally. Let your son handle it. You're distressed and likely to slip up, and as we both know, Hermione Granger has a devious way of worming information out of others."

"Right." Draco smiles. "And she certainly wouldn't interrogate Scorpius, who must already be terribly upset by what his best friend is going through."

"Precisely."

Snape gives a smug grin and Draco can't help but grin back. At this very moment, there are so many things he'd like to ask his old mentor, but he's so overwhelmed by everything that has happened in the past few days that he's completely lost for words and unable to muster up the necessary energy.

So instead, the two men remain sitting there in silence for a long while until Draco asks, sounding almost like the student he once was, "Will you be sticking around now, Sir?"

"Well, I might fade out of obscurity now and again," Severus replies with a smirk, "provided the circumstances were to call for it."

Draco isn't quite certain how to interpret that statement exactly, but somehow, it does help set his mind at ease.

It's something of a comfort to realise that from now on, he'll no longer have to carry this terrible burden alone.


	8. Chapter 8

Carefully, Draco folds the note and puts it in his robe pocket. He rises from his chair and determinedly makes his way to the third-year Slytherin boys' sleeping quarters.

He uses the password Severus gave him—Funny, he thinks, how each section has its own password now—and then, quietly so as not to wake anyone, he walks through the door.

Even in the half-light, he notices that the dorm hasn't changed much during the past two decades. Hogwarts clearly doesn't believe in change, not when it comes to details such as these. Still, in their own way, the dark and silent dungeons are quite cosy and comforting.

Draco frowns as he tries to find out in which bed Scorpius might be sleeping. Probably one stuck away in a corner somewhere, he assumes, being well aware that his son prefers his privacy and solitude almost as much as he, himself, does.

Looking around, Draco spots the familiar green satchel, the one his mother bought Scorpius for Christmas last year. It's standing on a chair next to a bed at the far end of the room.

Smiling, Draco walks over and carefully he pushes a bed curtain aside. He intends to place the note on his son's pillow and quickly disappear again. It's not the bravest course of action, Draco realizes, but then he was never a Gryffindor and he's tired and has already had more than his fair share of unpleasant confrontations for one day.

Nonetheless, the sight that greets him when he casts a soundless Lumos leaves him stunned and unsettled once more.

In Scorpius' bed, Albus Potter is sound asleep. The boy's head is resting on Scorpius' chest and one of Scorpius' arms is wrapped protectively around him.

Draco's stomach plummets. Harry used to snuggle up to him in the exact same way, and the memory makes this scene painfully familiar.

Draco swallows audibly and understands now, more than he did before, that whatever it is that these boys share, the two of them have obviously grown very close.

Scorpius pries one eye open. He'd barely been asleep when a rustling sound pulled him from slumber. He holds back a gasp when he recognises the figure towering over him. "This…This isn't what it might look like, Father," the boy whispers urgently. "Al was just—"

Both unwilling and not in the mood to discuss that now, Draco waves a dismissive hand. "Here," he whispers back and retrieves the note from his pocket. "These are the contact details of one of the renowned Malfoy solicitors. He's our best man. Tell Granger… I mean, ask Professor Granger to give the note to Pot—to Albus' father in the morning."

"Oh." Scorpius blinks. It's on the tip of his tongue to ask why this needs to be dealt with in such a roundabout way, why his father doesn't simply approach Harry Potter or Professor Granger directly, but he guesses it probably has something to do with the past, so he decides not to enquire. His father already looks distraught enough as it is.

Instead, he smiles gratefully. "Thank you."

Draco nods curtly. "Take care, son," he says softly, and for the briefest of moments, allows his gaze to linger on Albus. "And look after him," he adds, before he makes a quick exit.

Scorpius nods. He's astonished at his father's behaviour, particularly by the obvious change of heart the man shows towards Albus, and Scorpius has no idea what all this means. Does it have anything to do with Harry Potter? Is his father in love with that man, and if so, are those feelings mutual?

Scorpius swallows hard. So many things to figure out, he thinks with a weary sigh, and then he feels the boy in his arms stir slightly.

"Scorp," Albus asks, his eyelids heavy and his voice hoarse with sleep, "what's going on?"

"Nothing important," comes the whispered reply. "Go back to sleep, Al. You sound knackered."

"I _am_ knackered."

"Well, there you go, then. Go back to sleep."

"Hm. You know, Scorp, I had this really strange dream. I can't even remember any of the details, just that it was incredibly _weird_."

"Don't worry about it," Scorpius whispers as he tightens his hold on the other boy. "It's been a long, strange, topsy-turvy sort of day."

"Hm," Albus murmurs. Wrapped warmly and safely in his best friend's arms, it doesn't take him long to fall asleep again.

******

"Well, Granger, aren't you a sight for sore eyes?"

Hermione shakes her head. "Hello Fred," she says, not bothering to turn around. "What brings you here this evening?"

"Curiosity; what else?" he replies with a mischievous chuckle. "So the shit has finally hit the fan, has it? I expected better from my sister, frankly, but well, what's a bloke to do?"

"Yes," Hermione replies sardonically, "I think we all expected more from the Weasleys on the relationship front."

"Ouch!" Grimacing, he clutches at his chest. "You wound me deeply, Granger, you really do. If I still had a beating heart, it would surely be broken."

Hermione rolls her eyes at the elaborate dramatics and turns to face Fred, who's now standing to her left. "All right," she says, "I'll admit, maybe all Weasleys aren't as bad and shouldn't be judged in the same way, but nonetheless…"

"From what I've heard," Fred says, "Bill and Fleur are very happy and their kid seems to be doing great, too."

Hermione nods. In her latest Owl, Fleur wrote that Victoire is well on her way to becoming a Mediwitch, and Hermione is certain that a rewarding and challenging career awaits the young woman. That is, if she's smart enough not to get married and pregnant first, and bury all her other dreams in the same foolish way her supposedly clever aunt did.

"How's Percy, though? And," Fred asks after an awkward pause, "George?"

Hermione smiles. "Percy's fine. He went back to the Ministry at Lucius Malfoy's special request. As for George…"

Fred swallows. "Go on."

"He's running the shop together with Millicent Bulstrode - well, technically, Millicent Goyle now, assisting him."

"Really? Good for him."

Hermione nods.

"He's not married or anything?"

"No, but"—Hermione smiles—"there's this nice lady who comes to the shop quite often and I think they're both trying to work up the courage to ask the other out for dinner."

"Typical." Fred rolls his eyes. "George was always completely hopeless in that department. I used to set him up with girls, you know, and sometimes I even pretended I was him and chatted them up in his place." With that, his expression turns gloomy. "He's doing all right, though, isn't he? Not depressed or anything?"

"He's just fine." Hermione gives a reassuring smile. "Your brother's made of some pretty strong stuff, you know."

"Yeah. I know."

"Professor Granger," a third voice cuts in suddenly, "sorry to interrupt your conversation, but could I speak with you for a moment?"

Hermione turns to face an uncharacteristically rattled Scorpius. "Yes," she replies quickly. "Yes, of course. Excuse us, Fred."

"Certainly, Madam Professor," the ghost says, and with an exaggerated bow and a small pop, he's gone again.

Hermione smiles and then asks the young boy in front of her, "What's the matter, Mister Malfoy?"

"It's about... Albus' father, Professor," Scorpius replies politely.

Hermione frowns. "Well, in that case, I suggest we go to my office and talk there."

"Yes, Professor."

Nervously clenching his hands in his pockets, Scorpius follows on Hermione's heel.

******

The slim woman runs her fingers through her long red hair, pulls it back in a ponytail and sighs deeply.

"Do you really have to go already, Blaise?" she asks, her brown eyes wide and pleading. "We could have a romantic dinner later - salmon, champagne, something extra special, and maybe you could stay another night?"

"Sorry, love," he says with a small smile. "Much as it pains me to decline, legally speaking, this is really for the best. It wouldn't be wise to let your husband catch us red handed." Smirking slightly at that thought, he adds, "I don't think he'd buy into the 'insurance salesman' excuse; not in my case."

What Blaise omits to mention is that he has no desire whatsoever to get into a fight, be it a magical duel or a physical brawl, with the man who defeated the Dark Lord. He's leaving this matter for the courts to deal with. That's the only way to ensure that Harry Potter will lose.

_Yes, for once in his life he will lose and it'll no doubt be a novel and hopefully humbling experience for the pretentious, overrated little shit,_ Blaise thinks with a wry smile.

"I suppose you're right," Ginny says resignedly. "I'll miss you terribly, though."

"Likewise, darling," he says and gently kisses her on the lips. "Just hang in tight. It won't be long before I'll whisk you away from this dump and we can start our real life together. I promise you, you'll have everything you desire and all your dreams will come true."

She nods slowly. "I know, but…"

"Soon, Ginny," he whispers. Then he kisses her again and Apparates away.

Staring at the space her lover just occupied, she swallows the lump in her throat, blinks back tears, and whispers, "Yes… _soon_."

******

"Scorpius _Malfoy_ gave you this?" a baffled Harry asks for what Hermione thinks must be the fifth time in less than ten minutes.

Once more, she nods in response. "Yes, Harry, and if you don't mind me saying so, I think it would be in your best interests to make an appointment with that legal office without further ado. You do agree with me that this sad business needs to be nipped in the bud and dealt with as soon as possible, don't you?"

"Yes," he says, "that would be best."

Hermione gives him a small, encouraging smile. She has learned from painful personal experience that prolonging the agony when things clearly aren't working out, as she did with Ron, supposedly for the benefit of their children, doesn't do anyone any good.

Harry returns the smile tiredly and Hermione's heart aches for him. He's been one of her dearest and closest friends ever since they were both eleven, and the way he looks now, his face gaunt and pale and his eyes lifeless, distresses her more than she can express. She hasn't seen him in such a terrible state since the war.

Hermione wishes she could hex Ginny for this, but she knows that wouldn't do anyone any good either. Right now, what Harry urgently needs is emotional support and help of the practical kind. "Do you have a place to stay?" she asks.

Harry nods. "I've kept the London flat."

"Good. Then I suppose that at least during the next fortnight, until the Easter Hols—"

"I'll be fine." He smiles. "Well, not exactly _fine_, but…"

"Yes, of course. Although,"—Hermione frowns—"I'm sure if we were to explain this deplorable situation to the Headmistress, she'd be only too happy to let you stay on here for as long as you'd like."

Harry shakes his head. "I appreciate the thought, Hermione, but I've always dealt better with this sort of stuff on my own."

"Yes, I remember." She reaches across the coffee table and takes his hand. "But if you ever need a listening ear or a shoulder to cry on..."

"I know, Hermione. Thanks."

For a few moments, not a single word is spoken, as both of the room's occupants are lost in their own thoughts, until Harry slowly pulls his hand back and begins uncertainly, "You know, I really don't understand why Malfoy would, er—"

"Well," Hermione offers, "apparently, little Scorpius is terribly upset about Albus taking things so hard, so he went to talk to his father."

Harry sighs. "My poor kids. They really don't deserve any of this crap."

"Harry, I'm not entirely certain, but, I mean, perhaps Draco Malfoy…" Hermione coughs.

"Yes?" Harry says, instantly nervous at the mention of that name. "What about him?"

"Perhaps," she suggests carefully, "his conscience is bothering him and he feels he still has something to make up for, so he has instructed his son to help yours and by extension, you?"

Harry shakes his head. "No, Hermione," he states in a morose tone, "I'm afraid you're barking up the wrong tree. Anything Malfoy and I may have needed to settle was taken care of decades ago. We're definitely even now."

Hermione's eyes widen. She hasn't a clue what her friend means by that, but she won't pry any further. Not now. That just wouldn't be appropriate.

Still, she's more and more convinced that something strange is going on, something Harry refuses to tell her or never told her in the past, and whatever that something is, it definitely involves Draco Malfoy—

Draco Malfoy, who must already be back at his parents' Wiltshire manor by now. How convenient.

Perhaps, Hermione decides, she'll ask Scorpius about it one of these days, once the dust has settled a little.

Something tells her that boy knows more than he's letting on.


	9. Chapter 9

_"Why are you sitting out here in the dark, all by yourself?" a kind, slightly worried voice asks.

Draco looks up from his spot on the cold marble floor and shrugs. "No reason. I was just thinking."

"What about?" Harry asks, plopping down next to him. "Anything interesting?"

Draco smirks. "Won't your friends be wondering where you've disappeared to, Potter?" he says flatly, dodging the question. He's well aware of the lame, petty nature of the remark, but then Potter did spend most of the evening practically glued to his spot at the Weasley table, not giving Draco more than a furtive glance, if that. Being ignored isn't something Draco handles terribly well.

"No." Oblivious to his companion's bad mood, Harry smiles warmly. "Ron and Hermione are kind of… distracted, um, by each other."

"Please." Draco rolls his eyes in an exaggerated fashion. "Do spare me the sordid, nauseating details."

"Don't worry"—Harry snickers—"I'm not really keen to talk about it, myself, either." He reaches across the small space between them and takes Draco's hand.

Automatically, out of habit, Draco intertwines their fingers and sneaks a quick glance to his left. It's on the tip of his tongue to ask, "What about the rest of them?" But the words never get that far. The intensity of Harry's gaze, full of—is that hope as well as longing?— takes him by surprise and shocks him into silence.

"Do you want to go back to my room?" Harry blurts out. Even after all those months, it's an unusually direct approach for him.

Draco supposes they have the Firewhiskey to thank. "Why? Do you have some kind of private celebration planned, Potter?" he asks with a devious grin.

"Um, something like that," Harry mumbles, his face flooding with colour.

All earlier aggravation and jealousy forgotten, Draco leans closer and kisses him. He tastes like sweet Whiskey and Bitter, and Draco wishes he could capture the moment, stop time and stay there forever.

They have to hurry and leave, though, before someone stumbles upon them by accident. The nameless thing they share is still a well-kept secret, for both their sakes.

"I'll Apparate us," Draco says. "You're too sloshed. You'd only end up Splinching yourself."

Harry nods. A few seconds later, they're standing in his spacious room at number twelve, Grimmauld Place.

Harry's bed hasn't been made and there are clothes strewn everywhere, but for once, Draco has no scathing comments about lazy house-elves. Instead, he suddenly realises he has missed this terribly. The two of them have been stealing kisses and sneaking quick fumbles whenever they got the chance, but they haven't shared a bed or a sleeping bag in ages; well, weeks at least.

"You'll stay the night, won't you, Draco?" Harry asks, still feeling brave.

Unable to resist those pleading green eyes and the prospect of Potter's warm, naked body wrapped around him until morning, Draco nods. "Yes."

Soon they're kissing passionately. Clothing is discarded and dropped to the floor.

"I want," Harry whispers, his hands in Draco's hair.

"Yes?" Draco whispers back. "What do you want?"

Even in the half-light, Harry's furious blush is impossible to miss. Burying his face against the crook of Draco's neck, he says softly, "I want to feel you inside me."

"You… what?" Draco gulps. He can barely believe his own ears. "Are you sure? Isn't this just the drink talking?"

"No," Harry says, his tone shy but determined, "I mean, yes, I'm sure; unless you don't…"

"All right," Draco says, and kisses him again, removing all doubt, "but we're going to need…"

"Yeah." Harry gestures towards the cupboard to their right, and says awkwardly, "Top drawer."

Draco frowns. "Exactly how long have you been wanting to do this, Potter?"

"Um." Harry takes a deep breath. "A while?"

Slightly amused but mostly flattered, Draco grins. "Come on, then," he whispers and pulls Harry closer for another searing kiss.

Much later that night, they lie in each other's arms. They're both sleeping peacefully, but many words remain unspoken between them, important words, and neither boy knows that this warm autumn night is the last they'll spend together or that the day after tomorrow, everything will change.

_

******

Sighing deeply, Draco runs a hand through his hair and gingerly makes his way down the majestic staircase.

Four days have gone by since he left Hogwarts; or, not to put too fine a point on it, since he practically fled the place.

And now, back within the safety of his family home, he finds he can't stop thinking about Potter, _worrying_ about the bastard. He bitterly wonders whether it's possible to cast an Obliviate on yourself, because if it is, that might be just the one and only way left to regain some of his dignity and to offer some positive answers to the big question his life has become

"Hello, darling," a cheerful voice calls out in the hallway.

Draco turns around to face Narcissa Malfoy, who's standing there, smiling widely, two large, expensive-looking suitcases by her feet.

"Good afternoon, Mother," he says, forcing a smile of his own, "I didn't know you would be returning today."

"I haven't exactly _returned_, darling," she replies. "I'm merely stopping by to drop off some shopping. It was driving your father up the wall, having all that stuff lying around the place. You know how he always reacts to clutter."

"Yes," Draco says, one eyebrow raised in amusement, "and obviously you couldn't simply magically _shrink_ what you'd bought, could you, Mother?"

"All right, Draco"—she lets out a small laugh and holds up a hand in mock surrender—"I admit, Your Honour, perhaps I also wanted to check up on one of my favourite boys."

This time, Draco's smile is genuine.

"So," she continues, levitating her coat into the walk-in closet, "how have you been? How did things go at Hogwarts?"

"Fine," Draco replies quickly. "Everything has been sorted out satisfactorily."

The deep frown he receives in response indicates that his mother isn't willing to let him off that easily.

Feeling he has no other option, Draco goes on, "Erm, well, basically, Scorpius has been given a series of detentions along with Albus Potter, in the Forbidden Forest."

"And so history repeats itself, be it with an interesting twist." Narcissa sighs. "We can only hope their behaviour will improve from now on, especially Scorpius'. Incidentally…"

She gracefully takes a seat on the antique chaise longue and pats the empty space to her left. Slightly reluctant, Draco takes a seat, and then Narcissa continues, "I bumped into Henrich Heimdall the other day. You remember him, don't you, the Arguer?"

Draco swallows thickly, and nods.

"Apparently, he has an appointment with one Harry Potter tomorrow afternoon. Or so I heard him mention on his… mobile phone. It's quite bizarre, incidentally, seeing Wizards walking around using all these Muggle contraptions. I realise one should move with the times and I'd hate to come across as prejudiced, but have those things even been proven… _safe_?"

Draco shrugs. "I've never devoted much thought to the subject," he replies. And he hasn't. He has no social life to speak of and rarely feels the need to talk to anyone outside of his family, be it through the use of Muggle technology or otherwise.

"Anyhow," Narcissa goes on, "as I was saying… Of course, I didn't ask Henrich directly, such would have been highly inappropriate, but I suspect the Potters may be having serious marital problems at present."

"Marital problems," Draco parrots numbly.

"Well, yes, if I understood his part of the conversation correctly. Not that I was purposely eavesdropping, of course. I wouldn't dare."

"Indeed. Perish the thought, Mother," Draco remarks with a smirk, but something in his eyes gives him away. He used to be much better at feigning lightheartedness.

Narcissa smiles in triumph. "You know something more about this, don't you, darling?"

Draco sighs. He'd rather not discuss this, not at all, but past experience has taught him that his mother will never put the matter to rest until he tells her precisely what she wants to know, and besides, where would be the harm in telling? It's not as though mentioning the failing Potter-Weasley marriage would result in any personal embarrassment or cause other problems.

"Well," he finally says, "I think they'll probably divorce on account of… adultery."

Narcissa's eyes widen. "Adultery? _Harry Potter_ has a bit on the side? Really? That's… highly unexpected."

Draco shakes his head. "Not quite. The Weasley wench is cheating on him."

"I see." Narcissa's face takes on an almost predatory expression. "Any idea with whom?" she has to ask. "Anyone we know?"

"I have no idea," Draco says quickly; a little too quickly because he should have realised by now that trying to fool his mother is a losing battle. The woman is a Malfoy, a Black and a Slytherin, and as cunning as they come.

"Fine," Draco admits with a sigh before she has the chance to press on. "If you absolutely must know, she's involved with Blaise."

"Oh dear, oh dear." Narcissa shakes her head. "I really can't imagine that boy settling down yet."

"He's fast approaching forty, Mother," Draco points out.

"Oh shush," Narcissa says. "He's still a boy at heart, and I honestly don't picture him turning into a family man and playing step-dad to Potter's children."

"Perhaps he has changed?" Draco offers, though he hasn't a clue why he's even making the effort to defend his former Housemate, especially since he strongly suspects that to Blaise, Ginevra Potter-Weasley is indeed just another of many conquests and that the man will tire of her charms soon enough.

Narcissa laughs. "Now really, darling, to mention the Zabini name and imply monogamy within the same train of thought is entirely too silly. I can only hope the Weasley girl knows what she's doing."

Draco sighs. He can't deny that his mother probably has a point, and that realisation leaves him feeling oddly conflicted.

Truthfully, he wouldn't mind Ginny ending up helpless and devastated. He still hasn't forgiven the woman for marrying Potter. On the other hand, though, if Zabini does break her heart (for the man certainly excels at loving and leaving), she might decide to go running back to Potter, and Potter would take her back in a heartbeat, simply because that's just the kind of brave, noble Gryffindor hero he is.

'Well, to some people, at any rate,' Draco reflects bitterly. Even after all this time, Potter's refusal to help Lucius still hurts, and Draco's feelings of betrayal haven't lessened in the slightest.

But then, perhaps, Blaise really does care about the Weaselette and the two of them will live happily ever after and never bother Potter again. That would be the best outcome, wouldn't it?

Maybe then Draco would actually have a shot at reconciliation with Potter, assuming that's really what he wants, because this is yet another matter he's completely undecided on; and almost afraid to properly consider.

Draco swallows hard. He hasn't experienced this kind of turmoil in years; torn between hope and despair, in more or less equal proportions.

Suddenly it dawns on him that his mother has stopped talking, and is looking at him in a peculiar manner. Is there some question he's supposed to be answering now?

He frowns. "Sorry? What did you just say, Mother?"

"I said, Draco, that at least Harry Potter has found the best man for the job. Henrich is positively _ruthless_."

"Yes," Draco says softly, "I think so, too."

"And may I gather that you're the one who gave Potter his contact details?"

Draco grits his teeth, feeling nervous suddenly. In well over twenty years, he has managed to never slip up, not even once, when discussing Harry Potter with his mother, but now he's bone tired and his mind is miles away, pre-occupied with the lonely, broken wreck of a man staying in some flat in London; or so Scorpius mentioned in his latest Owl.

_Scorpius._

Draco clears his throat. "I can't sneak anything past you, can I, Mother?" he says with a small smile. "Well, the fact of the matter is that Scorpius was very upset when Potter—I mean, _Albus_ Potter—was in such a terrible state about what his father had discovered, so he requested my assistance."

Narcissa blinks. "Am I understanding this correctly? Are you telling me that Harry Potter learned of his wife's infidelity while he was there, at Hogwarts?"

Draco nods. "It seems the latest Firecall features have their disadvantages as well," he says dryly.

"Oh dear." Narcissa sighs and remains quiet for a few long moments, clearly deep in thought.

Draco is about to take his leave, eager to put an end to this unsettling discussion, but then his mother speaks up again.

"You know," she says, "Scorpius and the youngest Potter boy seem to have grown quite close."

Draco nods curtly. "Yes, they have."

"Then, perhaps, wouldn't this be a good time for you to reconsider as well?"

Draco tries to ignore the way his right hand suddenly trembles and he struggles to keep his voice as steady as possible, as he replies, "How do you mean, Mother? Reconsider what?"

"I was referring to your animosity towards the Potter boy."

"I don't really have anything against Albus Severus, per se," Draco replies quickly, "only the boy's father." He holds his breath and in that moment, he wishes he had actually confided in his mother all those years ago, asked her counsel, because this whole situation is getting fast out of hand, on so many levels.

"I'm well aware your quarrel is with Harry alone, darling," Narcissa informs him, "but his son is Scorpius' best friend, and the war was decades ago, and besides, Harry Potter might need a friend too, and isn't that what you've always wanted—"

Draco's mouth drops open in amazement. He quickly shuts it again, for fear of looking conspicuous, as well as embarrassingly undignified.

"—to be Harry Potter's friend, Draco?"

Narcissa gives him a pointed, questioning look, and Draco finds he has neither the wit nor the heart to disagree with her logic.

******

Scorpius absent-mindedly opens his bed curtains and almost jumps when he spots Albus' silhouette. The boy is sitting cross-legged in the middle of Scorpius' bed.

"Sweet Merlin," Scorpius says in a whisper. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack or something, Al?"

"No, er…" The boy grins sheepishly. "I was just getting a little worried."

"Oh?" Scorpius smirks. "Why is that?"

"Your talk with Aunt Her—um, Granger. That was tonight, wasn't it?"

"Ah. Yes, it was, actually. So what of it, Potter?"

"Well, er…" Albus bites his lip. He looks eager, with a hint of nervous anticipation. "Did she try to… er…"

"Worm information out of me?"

Albus nods.

"Of course she did," Scorpius replies with a smirk. "Did you truly expect any less?"

Albus shakes his head. "And?"

"And what?"

Albus resists the urge to throw a pillow at his friend's head. "Tell me what happened, you plonker. Quit stalling for time!"

"Well, let me put it this way,"—Scorpius grins—"I'm a Slytherin and she… _isn't_."

Of course, it wasn't quite as simple as that. Granger asked him some pretty sneaky questions, and Scorpius has a feeling she'll be making another attempt to get to the bottom of things in the not too distant future. He'll have to watch his step around her, and do his utmost to stop her from interrogating Albus too. Slytherin or not, the boy is far too trusting and spontaneous for his own good.

"Thank Merlin, Scorp," Albus says. "You know, I really don't think dad would appreciate that getting out. It's one thing if he ever decides to tell her himself, but…"

"Yeah. I'm sure Father wouldn't be happy for Granger to know either. So…" He gives the other boy a conspiratorial wink. "It seems all possible major disasters have been averted and you, Potter, are kindly requested to go and get some much-needed sleep."

With that, Scorpius turns around and starts undressing and changing into his pyjamas. However, when he turns to face the bed again, Albus is still sitting there like a statue, looking down at his lap.

"Well, Potter," Scorpius says, smiling, "was there something else?"

Albus shrugs. "Yeah. Um… Would-Would you mind if I stayed here with you again tonight?"

  
Scorpius shakes his head. The truth of the matter is that he'll even miss it during the Easter hols, sharing a bed with his friend. "We have to be extremely careful, though," he adds softly. "We wouldn't want anyone getting suspicious."

"Suspicious? Why?" Albus asks bluntly. "It's not like we're actually _doing_ anything unacceptable. We only cuddle… and stuff."

Scorpius smiles. "I know that and you know that, and our year mates, I'm sure, couldn't care either way, but the teachers…"

"Do you honestly think that say, Professor Flint, would actually object?'

"Maybe not him," Scorpius replies with a wide grin. He's familiar with the rumours about the Quidditch instructor and his colourful past with both girls and boys. "But the headmistress mightn't be quite as openminded or understanding."

"Yeah." Albus sighs. "Maybe you're right. Sad old prune."

Scorpius laughs and disappears under the covers.

"Can I—" Albus bites his lip.

"Yes. Feel free."

Grinning, Albus climbs into bed. "Good night, Scorpy," he says and snuggles closer.

Scorpius frowns. "What the hell, Potter - 'Scorpy'? Praise yourself lucky I'm too comfortable right now to knock your block off, you prat!"

Albus chuckles. He knows Scorpius doesn't mind, and is also too much of a softie to kick him out of bed now. He leans up and gently kisses his friend on the cheek.

"Nox," Scorpius whispers. He ruffles Albus' impossible hair and smiles into the darkness.

He's extremely glad that his best friend is almost back to his usual self, be it also a lot more affectionate, at times almost to the point of clingy.

Not that this bothers Scorpius, given that he's not exactly used to getting a lot of affection either, save for his grandmama's smothering hugs, but they don't feel anywhere near as nice as Albus' cuddles do.

Scorpius bites his lip. It suddenly dawns on him that he has to come up with a solution for Easter hols. He doesn't know how Mister Potter is doing presently, except that the man is staying in London, but Scorpius does have a nagging suspicion that Albus' Easter won't be much fun this year.

Maybe aside from sending Albus the usual daily letter, Scorpius should also try to arrange to meet up - a trip to Diagon Alley or even Muggle London, perhaps? Well, assuming his father agrees.

Scorpius resolves to Owl him first thing in the morning.

He'll probably need to use lots of emotional arguments, perhaps throw a bit of a tantrum too, and if all else fails, he can still rely on his doting grandmama to rush to his aid. Being a spoiled only child and grandchild does have its advantages, Scorpius decides with a devious grin

His plan made, he soon drifts off into a restful sleep, with Albus snoring softly beside him.


	10. Chapter 10

"I wouldn't dream of adding the contents of that blue bottle if I were you, Miss Granger. Did you even bother to read the label? Or is it in fact your objective to blast the whole of Hogwarts, and possibly part of Hogsmeade, to smithereens?"

At the sound of the eerily familiar voice, Hermione is so utterly stunned she almost drops the vial she's holding.

Mouth agape, she whips around to discover her ears haven't deceived her. "P-Professor Snape?" she manages in a small voice.

The man, who looks slightly older but no less intimidating for it, smirks. "It mightn't be terribly wise, at this point, for you to attempt to remain standing," he remarks dryly. He snaps his fingers and instantly, a heavy wooden chair slides towards her.

Rendered speechless, Hermione staggers backwards to take a seat.

"I was looking for Potion ingredients," the man informs her. "However, I wasn't expecting to encounter anyone here this early. I see your thirst for knowledge and appreciation of hard work haven't diminished over the years; a welcome change from your predecessor, Miss Granger."

Hermione takes a deep breath as she tries to collect her bearings. "Which ingredients were you looking for?" she manages in a shaky voice.

"Well," he says, "I gather I don't have to remind you of a certain snake bite I received on a fateful day over two decades ago?"

"No," she replies softly.

"The poison was extremely life threatening, almost lethal, Miss Granger, and even now, after all those years, I have to keep taking the antidote on a monthly basis to avoid possible after-effects."

"So, you're not a ghost," she says and then blinks when she realises she didn't mean to utter that conclusion out loud.

"No, Miss Granger." Snape's smirk widens. "I'm very much alive; thank you ever so for pointing out the glaringly obvious."

"Sorry, Sir, but I just assumed, after Fred…"

"Yes, I've met Mister Weasley as well. Death seems to become him."

Hermione swallows hard. Snape clearly hasn't changed a bit, and then all of a sudden, it hits her and her astonishment is replaced by anger. "You deceived _everyone_! You lied to all of us," she accuses, raising her voice.

"And I had very good reasons for doing so, Miss Granger," he replies flatly.

"Very good reasons," she parrots numbly. "If only you'd witnessed how distraught…" She shakes her head. "All those people. Oh, how on earth _could_ you, Professor!"

"All of that is no longer of any importance, nor should it be a subject of discussion now," he states with a dismissive wave of his hand. "People have moved on, as they were supposed to do. However…"

She raises an eyebrow at him. "Yes?"

"You do appear to be in need of some assistance here. What is it, exactly, that you're hoping to accomplish with that… conspicuous concoction you're in the process of brewing?"

"I-" She shakes her head. "Please, Professor, don't tell me you came back from the dead just to help me?"

"Hardly, you silly girl," he snaps. "I came here to retrieve some Mandrake. Then again, it _is_ a good thing I did, otherwise the castle might no longer be standing at this point in time."

She frowns, but remains silent. Perhaps he has a point. She may have been a little careless with the dosage, too worried about Harry to pay adequate attention to her work.

"So, Miss Granger, do you or do you not require my assistance with the…." he gives her a questioning look, and makes a vague gesture in the direction of the cauldron.

"Wolfsbane," she says.

"Ah. Captured ourselves a dangerous werewolf, have we?"

"No," she replies quickly, "I merely wanted to…"

"…learn how to brew the potion in practice?"

"Yes," she replies guiltily, and looks down at her shoes.

Amused, Snape shakes his head. "Very well, Miss Granger, I'll show you how, but under one strict condition."

"What would that be, Sir?" she asks, slightly suspicious.

"You shan't, not under any circumstances whatsoever, reveal that I'm still alive; not to anyone. As I said earlier, Miss Granger, I do have my reasons for… _playing dead_, as it were."

Hermione shrugs. "I guess so, Sir, though I have to wonder why…"

"Don't," he brusquely cuts her off.

"Sir?"

"Do not question why, Miss Granger. The specifics are of no direct relevance to you, are they?"

"I-I suppose not."

"Very well, then." He takes a few swift steps in the direction of the smouldering cauldron and with a flick of his wand, has its contents vanish into thin air. "In order to brew Wolfsbane successfully, we will require—"

******

Draco lets out a deep sigh and shakes his head in fierce determination, as if continuing to do so might make the present onslaught of unsettling thoughts somehow disappear.

The morning Owl Post delivered a rather unpleasant missive: Scorpius requesting to spend some time with his close friend Albus over the Easter Holidays.

Not that Draco wasn't expecting something like this, but nonetheless…

That little boy is the spitting image of a teenage Harry Potter, and to Draco, a walking reminder of what might have been, what he could have had, if only…

"Damn you, Scorpius," Draco mutters under his breath. "Of all the friends you could have made, why did you have to go and pick a bloody _Potter_?"

"Good morning!" Narcissa waltzes into the room and gives her son a dazzling smile. "Oh, you look rather glum, darling. Is there something wrong?"

"Good morning, Mother," Draco says and replies, unconvincingly, "No, everything's just fine."

Frowning and not the least bit fooled, she takes the seat in front of him and asks, "Any interesting mail this morning? That letter you're holding; it's in Scorpius' handwriting, is it not?"

Draco grits his teeth. He doesn't understand why his mother is still at the Manor in the first place. Wasn't she planning on leaving straight away yesterday, to rejoin his father back at the London penthouse? But then, of course, she became distracted and all of a sudden decided to make arrangements with specialised contractors to have the downstairs drawing room redecorated, or so she claimed.

He can only assume that she is in fact up to something, and he can't shake the unsettling suspicion that whatever her plans are, they definitely involve Harry Potter and as such, can't possibly signal the start of anything good, no matter which way you look at it.

"Yes, Scorpius; he…" Draco takes a deep breath. He truly doesn't need this impromptu inquisition today, if ever. "He would like to spend a day with Pot-Albus Potter, that is, during the upcoming holidays."

"Oh, but that's a marvellous idea, darling," Narcissa replies with a bright smile as she starts to butter her croissant. "I guess it wouldn't be fun for those boys to have to be apart for two whole weeks, especially given that regrettable business with Albus' parents currently."

Draco takes another deep, calming breath. "I'm not too sure about that, Mother. Perhaps a brief separation would actually do them the world of good," he says in the most even tone he can manage. "They're practically attached at the hip at Hogwarts, and it's always only the two of them. Scorpius used to have a lot of other friends, did he not? And maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea to introduce him to some girls as well in the immediate future." The bitterness in his tone, as he utters those last few words, surprises even him. He fully realises he isn't being rational and far from fair, and he has to admit as well that it's childish to be jealous of his own son, for this _is_ jealousy at its worst, nothing more and nothing less, but he can't help himself, nor can he comprehend why the pain still feels so fresh, even after over two decades.

"Oh, Draco." Narcissa shakes her head sadly. "Whatever possesses you to even say such a thing at this time of great personal crisis? And 'meet girls', indeed. The poor boy's worried sick about his closest friend. I'm quite certain that _girls_ are just about the last thing on his mind at the moment. Actually…" She gives her son a pointed look. "As far as I can tell, Albus Potter is the only one Scorpius has ever been interested in. He adores that boy. Can't you tell from the way he talks about him; the way his eyes shine whenever he mentions Albus? Who knows, maybe your son has his first crush? And who can blame him?" She smiles and adds, "The Potter men _are_ quite handsome, are they not?"

Draco quickly swallows his mouthful of coffee, his eyes tearing up as the hot liquid goes down his throat too quickly. "If you say so, Mother," he mumbles and stares down into his plate. It suddenly, painfully, dawns on him that he doesn't stand the slightest chance at winning this argument. The only verbal ammunition he has left would only leave him sounding petulant.

Besides, he can hardly voice his objections to Scorpius having a crush on a boy. Draco certainly isn't that much of a hypocrite. And technically, the Manor still belongs to his parents, so if Scorpius asks Narcissa directly and she gives her consent, Draco is certain that his own opinions will have as much staying power as snow flakes in the bright midday sunshine. Maybe he should consider himself lucky that he has succeeded in keeping Albus Potter away from his home for as long as he has.

"Very well," Draco finally says, begrudgingly, "if you absolutely insist on _indulging_ the boy, but mark my words, Mother, nothing good will come of it."

"We'll see, darling." Narcissa gives him her sweetest smile. "Time will tell."

******

"Come on, Al," Scorpius says. "Stop dragging your feet. Lovegood won't appreciate us being late, you know."

Albus grabs his best friend's arm and together they keep walking, slightly hastening their steps.

"We still haven't heard back from your father," Albus says softly. "I hope he won't be completely opposed to the idea of me visiting. I mean, I know he never wanted me to come to the Manor before, but maybe now, after everything…"

Scorpius rolls his eyes. "It's only been two hours since we sent the Owl, you daft git. Give it time. Father probably only just rolled out of bed. He's not what you'd call a morning person. Can't think straight before he's got a gallon of coffee inside him, either."

Abruptly, Albus releases his companion's arm. "Why must you always do that, Malfoy?" he snaps angrily.

"Do what?" Scorpius asks, confused.

"Well, call me 'git' and stuff, and treat me like I'm some… some kind of stupid… _moron_. That's really not terribly nice of you, you know, and you've been doing it loads more often lately, too." Albus crosses his arms in defiance and throws his friend a stern, accusing look.

Scorpius gulps. "Um, you know, I don't mean anything bad by it, Al," he says feebly, stunned at his friend's sudden outburst.

"Yeah, well, that may be so, Malfoy, but…"

It doesn't take Scorpius long to regain his composure. "But _what_, Potter?" he challenges.

"Well," Albus begins. The two of them are standing a few feet apart now. Both have their fists clenched, an angry look on their face and are unknowingly giving a perfect impersonation of their respective fathers all those years ago. "Stop making me feel so-so-so... bloody _inadequate_," he finishes with a glare.

"All right, Potter," Scorpius says. "I'll stop. And you know what? I'll do even better than that. I'll never bother you again. How does that sound?" The words barely spoken, he turns around and walks off, his head held high.

_Bugger_, Albus thinks. He instantly forgets what he was even angry about before, and sprints after him. "Malfoy? Scorpius? Scorp? Wait! _Scorpy_, please?"

Finally, Scorpius stops dead in his tracks and swiftly turns around. "What do you want _now_? Haven't I made you feel sufficiently inadequate yet for today, _Potter_?"

"Um, look,"—Albus takes a few hesitant steps closer, until he's standing near enough to place his hands on Scorpius' shoulders—"I didn't mean to… I'm just…" He sighs. "Please, you're my best mate; let's not fight anymore."

"All right," Scorpius says, his features already relaxing into a warm smile.

Albus closes the remaining distance between them and throws his arms around his friend.

The two boys stay there, hugging in the corridor for a few moments and temporarily forget all about the Care of Magical Creatures class they're already late for.

"You know," Scorpius says softly, taking a small step backwards, "um, when I say those things, call you… _that_, it's not at all meant in a hurtful way, it's more…"

"Yes?" Albus says, frowning. "What?"

"Well, it's like,"—a very uncharacteristic blush floods Scorpius' cheeks—"I don't know, a term of endearment or er- affection maybe? I mean, you-you're a _boy_, so I can't really call you er, darling or sweetheart or something, can I? That would be…"

"…kind of _girlie_?" Albus offers.

"Yes, precisely, and 'darling' is how my Grandmama addresses everyone she cares about, so…"

Albus nods. "So when you call me a git," he thinks out loud, "that's like you're saying you love me?" The smile that accompanies the statement is almost bright enough to light up the whole castle.

"Well, er…" Scorpius smiles back sheepishly. "Yes, sort of, I suppose."

Albus embraces his friend again. "I love you too," he says and quickly kisses Scorpius' cheek.

Scorpius is about to say something else, possibly something sobering and logical to put an end to the sheer sappiness of the situation, when suddenly a large Eagle Owl catches his attention. "Look, Al!" he says, pointing up. "Hector's back!"

"Your Father responded?"

Scorpius nods, and a heavy feeling settles in his stomach.

The large bird drops the envelope with the Malfoy Crest at the boys' feet and hoots loudly.

"Yes, Hector," Scorpius says. "You can head straight for the kitchen. The elves will give you a treat."

The beautiful bird hoots once more before he takes off again.

Scorpius swallows hard as he rips open the envelope.

"And?" Albus asks excitedly. "So what does it say?"

Scorpius, still reading, grins. "You're welcome to visit or we can go shopping together. They're completely fine with it."

"T-They _are_?" Albus asks, his large green eyes wide with surprise and shining with merriment. "Really?"

Scorpius nods. "Yes."

"Scorpy, let me see!" Without warning, Albus yanks the missive out of his best friend's hands, almost tearing the delicate parchment. He quickly skims over the letter. "Hm, that part about locking up the silverware isn't very nice," he remarks with a deep frown. "My dad may be right about your father being a bit of a pompous wanker."

Scorpius laughs. "Let's not even have that discussion. At least we'll have the opportunity to be together, right? Although it'll only be for one day, it's still better than nothing."

Albus nods. "Yeah. I don't think I could've coped without you for two whole weeks."

"Sentimental prat," Scorpius says. For a moment he's worried that Albus might get angry again, but the wide grin never leaves the boy's face.

"Come on, Potter," Scorpius says, and holds out his hand. "Let's get to class."

Albus takes the proffered hand, squeezes it gently and doesn't let go until they reach the clearing where Professor Lovegood and the others are observing what looks like a family of winged tortoises playing on the grass.  



	11. Chapter 11

High heels clatter loudly against the white marble floor. With hurried steps, the redhead in the long grey trench coat walks to the receptionist's desk.

"I need to see him," she declares. Her voice is sharp, almost frantic, and she doesn't bother with a formal introduction as she adds, "It's a matter of utmost urgency."

"Good afternoon, Madam," the elegantly dressed middle-aged woman seated behind the desk replies. "Do you have an appointment? Otherwise, I'm afraid Mister Zabini…"

"Can't you at least make the effort to tell him it's me?" she snaps.

"All right, Madam." The woman's patience is waning fast, but she manages to retain her calm. "May I have your name, please?"

"Yes. I'm Ginny Pot-I mean, Weasley. Ginny Weasley."

"Very well, Ms. Weasley."

The receptionist rises from her chair. She wonders what Harry Potter's wife, who looks considerably less glamorous in person than she did in that picture in _The Daily Prophet_'s gossip column last month, could possibly want with her boss, and why the woman has reverted back to calling herself 'Weasley'. Is she afraid of being recognised and hassled, or is there perhaps trouble in paradise?

Wringing her hands, Ginny remains standing there and waits. Under no circumstances will she bite her nails or twiddle with her hair. She shouldn't cry either, or her eyes will go all puffy and her mascara will run.

She has to be beautiful for him; flawless. He hates when women become careless about their appearance, when they let themselves go. He has already told her so numerous times and he often compliments her on her figure, which is still slender and seductive, even after having given birth to three children.

Ginny is well aware that she has a lot to live up to and a rather colourful past to compete with. Blaise has quite the reputation as a ladies' man, and she must be the first woman close to his own age he has been with in a long while. If the rumours are to be believed, his previous girlfriend was only twenty-two.

A few moments later, the receptionist returns. "Mister Zabini will see you now, Ms. Weasley," she says, gesturing in the direction of the heavy wooden door. "Feel free to go right through."

"Thank you," Ginny replies with a small nod and hurries into the office.

"Hello, my dearest," Blaise says as soon as the door is closed behind her. He rises from his chair. "To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"

He steps closer to embrace her, and she gives him a warm smile. "Well…"

"Can I take your coat?"

She nods.

He eyes her figure-hugging black dress approvingly.

"It-It's Harry," she says hesitantly, unsure where exactly to begin. "He didn't come home when he returned from Hogwarts. He went straight to the London flat instead. He's still staying there now, and…"

"Ah." Blaise smiles. "And this actually _vexes_ you, does it?"

"No," she says, "and under any other circumstances, I'd be quite relieved, but- um, can I sit down for a second?"

"Yes." He gives her another dazzling smile. "Of course, darling, how terribly rude of me. Please… take a seat."

"Right." She swallows thickly. "Um, do you mind if I smoke?"

He frowns. "Since when do you smoke, Ginny? I thought we both agreed that it's a filthy Muggle habit. Is there something wrong? You're looking paler than usual, too."

Ginny bites her lip. Yes, she knows that smoking is a disgusting and unhealthy habit, and she only took it up last week, on a whim, but it's all Harry's fault.

Everything that's been going wrong these past couple of years can quite easily be blamed on that frustrating, infuriating man she used to love deeply once, or so she thought, but who finally drove her to look for attention and affection elsewhere and whose disinterest and apathy made her do things she'd normally…

"You're not pregnant, are you?" Blaise suddenly puts to her, and Ginny instantly drops the still unlit cigarette she was fumbling with.

"No," she snaps, aghast. "Most certainly not! What kind of idiot do you take me for? Honestly! I've always been very careful. We both have, haven't we?"

He holds up a hand. "No need to bite my head off, darling! And you know, it wouldn't be the end of the world if you were… I'm certainly not the kind of man who'd.."

"You didn't get me in the club, Zabini!" she yells, loud enough for the receptionist to hear. "For Merlin's sake. As I was saying before, it's… Harry."

"Harry, who went to the London flat rather than your family home," Blaise supplies, to show that he was in fact paying full attention earlier.

"Exactly."

"So? Go on."

"Well,"—she coughs nervously—"at first, I thought he was there because of something related to his job; you know, one of those top secret, hush-hush cases he isn't allowed to tell me anything about, but this morning…" She Unshrinks her purse, takes out a large brown envelope and hands it to Blaise. "This arrived by Owl Post."

He frowns. "Henrich Heimdall" is the first thing he says when he recognises the seal, and it's quickly followed by, "Oh, bollocks!"

"Harry has left me, and he wants… _a divorce_. I'm being accused of… of…"

"Adultery?" Blaise finishes for her.

"Yes." She takes a deep breath before she asks, her voice trembling, "We can… fix this, can't we?"

"Fix _what_?" His voice has grown stern suddenly. He doesn't understand what she expects from him or what she's even implying. "Save your marriage?"

"No," she says, just as brusquely, "of course not! Sod being Mrs. Harry Potter! I mean my…" She leaps up from her chair and paces the room. "My children, Blaise, my lifestyle, the money I've grown used to. As you know, my family isn't exactly…" She trails off momentarily and then whips around to face him again. "Harry can't just evict me from our house, can he?" she asks, her voice shrill.

Blaise remains silent for a few moments. He supposes that, perhaps, he should have seen this coming a mile off.

He's had his share of flings with married women in the past, and his first and most important rule was always never to mess around with them at their own home.

But then Ginny re-entered his life; the beautiful girl he'd secretly lusted after when he was sixteen. Of course, back then she'd only had eyes for Harry Potter. She'd idolised the speccy git.

However, when Blaise bumped into her, quite unexpectedly, one day and asked her out to lunch, the attraction suddenly turned mutual. They started seeing more of each other and not before long, all the old rules changed or were thrown overboard altogether.

Blaise realises now that he should have been more careful. He should never have…

_Well, no matter,_ he concludes ruefully, _it's no use crying over spilled milk, and far too late for all such sentiments now. _

"Don't worry, sweetheart," he finally says, when she has fallen silent and is looking at him with both expectation and fear reflected in her lovely hazel eyes. "I'll sort this out. Whatever Potter has up his sleeve, I promised you I'd give you a better life than he ever would- and that means financially as well, and I always keep my promises. And concerning your children, don't you worry… We'll figure something out. Potter isn't the only one who can easily afford expensive legal help, you realise. And we were planning on starting a new life together anyhow, were we not? This unexpected development just… pushes our plans forward a bit, forces us to act sooner, that's all."

Ginny smiles her first genuine smile that day. "Thanks, Blaise."

"Trust me, love," he says. "Everything will be just fine. Now sit back down and I'll have Esther bring you a strong cup of coffee. How does that sound? And after that, you can go shopping, spoil yourself, my treat, and take your mind off this horrible business. And meanwhile, I'll make some Firecalls."

She nods gratefully and light-headed with relief, sinks back into the chair in front of him.

******

"One more day," Albus remarks with a sigh.

"Hm." Scorpius lies back on the bed and folds his arms under his head. "Father's picking me up at King's Cross tomorrow night. Any news from your mother yet?"

"Yes, she Owled me this morning, but, er…"

"But what?"

"I'm going to dad's flat instead."

"Oh?" Frowning, Scorpius props himself up on his left elbow.

"I'm terribly worried about him, Scorp. He always bottles everything up, and I can tell that Aunt Hermione's deeply concerned for him as well, but he keeps pushing her away, and well, she's got Hugo and Rose staying with her during the first week, or so I overheard Rose mention to Cathy earlier, so I doubt she'd have much time to…" Albus sighs again.

Scorpius reaches out and grabs his friend's hand. "So you think it's more likely that he'll open up to you?"

"Yeah, maybe, and if he doesn't, well, I can still keep an eye on him, can't I? Dad's… _brilliant_, really, but he doesn't cope so well on his own; if that makes sense? Back at school, he had Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron to look out for him, and there have always been the Weasleys too, but now… Well, who knows; you know?"

Scorpius nods. Yes, that makes perfect sense to him. His father's the same, and Scorpius assumes that's why the two of them still live at the Manor, not in some other house or flat.

His father could easily afford his own place and plenty of house-elves to go with it, but Scorpius once overheard his grandmother say that Draco either never grew up, or grew up too soon and missed out on something essential in the process.

At the time, Scorpius didn't understand what she meant by that, but now, at the age of almost fourteen, he's beginning to. "When would you like to come and visit, Al?" he asks in an attempt to change the painful subject.

"As soon as possible; well, once I'm sure dad's coping okay."

Scorpius slowly rubs his thumb over the back of Albus' hand. "I'll ask Grandmama to organise a trip to London for us. She's fabulous at that sort of thing. We'll have loads of fun, Al!"

Albus nods, and soon a comfortable silence settles over the room as both boys are lost in thought, wondering what the Easter Hols have in store for them.

  
******

It's almost dinnertime when the fireplace in Draco's spacious sleeping quarters indicates an incoming call.

Once he recognises the magical signature, Draco lowers the Wards and opens up the communication link.

Immediately, Blaise Zabini's uncharacteristically worried face appears in the flames.

Draco braces himself, for he can sense what's coming, and he knows this was bound to happen, sooner rather than later.

His mind instantly switches into overdrive. He did devote enough time to preparing himself for this eventuality, didn't he?

_Yes,_ he reminds himself, _definitely._ And while he may not be able to fool all the people all the time, he can certainly fool most of them when it really matters.

"Zabini," he says, careful to keep his facial expression blank and his voice neutral, "what can I do for you?"

"Malfoy," the other man gets straight to the point, "I'm afraid I find myself in a bit of an unfortunate predicament."

Draco raises an eyebrow. "Go on…"

"You know... that woman I've been seeing?"

"'The leggy redhead?" Draco supplies.

Inwardly, he flinches at having to refer to the Weaselette in such a manner. The last thing he wants to think, let alone talk, about are Ginevra's physical traits. The wench may have kept her looks, but with any luck, she's about to lose Potter once and for all. That thought almost makes Draco sneer in triumph, but he stops himself just in time, fully aware that he should bide his time. He shouldn't be too hasty to cheer, and he definitely shouldn't give Zabini the impression that he knows more about this.

Blaise nods. "I don't believe I ever told you her name, did I?"

"No," Draco says slowly. "You didn't."

"Well. Right." Blaise coughs. "It's Ginny Weasley."

"Ah. So you've been shagging Harry Potter's wife," Draco replies, and adds with a smirk, "Frankly, Zabini, I can't decide between congratulating you on getting the better of Potter, or being violently sick at your appalling lack of taste."

This earns him a venomous glare. "I'll have you know, Malfoy, that she's a lovely woman. "

"I'm afraid we'll have to agree to disagree on that one," Draco says curtly. "But regardless, now that we've established who your… _love interest_ is, perhaps you would be so kind as to get to the point and tell me the purpose of your call?"

"Right." Blaise grins sheepishly. "It would seem that Ginny and I were found out. At least, that's what the summons suggests."

"Summons?" Draco enquires, feigning total ignorance and doing a good job of it, too.

"Potter is filing for divorce. He's accusing Ginny of adultery, so I can only assume…"

"I see," Draco says, struggling to keep from grinning. "But intriguing though all this may be, Blaise, I still fail to comprehend what any of it has to do with me. Seems to me as though you have made your bed and will now have to lie in it, Weaselette and all."

"Very comical, Malfoy, Truly." Blaise rolls his eyes. "The reason I'm calling is because the Arguer Potter has hired is one of your men."

"Pardon?"

"Henrich Heimdall. He's on your legal team, isn't he?"

"Ah. I do believe you mean my _father_'s legal team," Draco says dismissively. He knows he probably shouldn't be enjoying this exchange so much, but he really can't help himself.

"Same difference," Blaise says, growing impatient. "You have to help me out here, Malfoy."

Draco crosses his arms. "How? What can I even do?"

"Well, frankly, after making extensive enquires, I fear… Well to put it bluntly, every solicitor I've been able to get in touch with so far hasn't been a match for Heimdall, and given how Ginny is as guilty as… Well, obviously, we both are… Anyhow, my point being: is there some way you could convince Heimdall to…"

"Yes?"

"Not take Potter's case?"

Draco frowns. "And how do you propose I do that?"

Blaise shrugs. "You've always been pretty resourceful, Draco. I'm sure there has to be _something_ you can do. For instance, how about giving the man lots of extra assignments, so that his workload becomes enormous and his schedule hectic? And perhaps you could give him a substantial raise as well - some added incentive, as it were? No doubt, he'd feel obligated to drop the Potter case immediately, out of loyalty to your family, and because well, it would be in his best personal interests too, wouldn't it? I mean, what's one measly job for Potter compared to losing a lifelong association with someone who has your kind of money?"

Amused, Draco shakes his head. "You have it all figured out already, haven't you, Zabini? Down to the very last detail. I must say I'm impressed."

Blaise grins smugly. "Slytherin, remember?"

"Quite." Draco takes a deep breath before he continues, "And you know, under any other circumstances, I would be only too glad to offer you my assistance, especially if doing so involves… settling an old score, as it were. However…"

Blaise blinks. "What?"

"As you may be aware," Draco continues, "Albus Potter, your… leggy redhead's youngest son is Scorpius' closest friend."

"So?" Blaise snaps.

"I really can't be a part of anything that would cause my son great distress."

Blaise's eyes widen. "_Your_ son?"

"Yes," Draco says simply. "If something were to happen to Harry Potter, that would highly upset Albus and subsequently, Scorpius, which I cannot allow, let alone want any part of. So I'm afraid, Zabini, that you will just have to worm your own way out of this ugly mess."

"How bloody typical," Blaise says, his voice dripping with disdain. "Even after all this time, you still can't bring yourself to pick a side, can you?"

Draco shakes his head. "Another grave error on your part, Zabini. I made my choice a long time ago, and I'm still on the same side I've always been."

Blaise gives him a questioning look. "Oh? And which one would that be?"

"My family's," Draco snaps, and with a steady hand, he flicks his wand, closing the communication link and restoring the Wards.

Then he takes a few deep, bracing breaths.

He knows it won't end here. He may have won the first fight, but this battle has only just begun. Zabini won't give up that easily, so this calls for reinforcement, or advice, or… _something_.

Draco sincerely hopes his mother hasn't left for London yet.


	12. Chapter 12

"Come on," Draco says to his son. "The carriage is waiting for us, and as I mentioned before, they're expecting me in Canterbury at eight p.m. sharp for an important meeting, so we really mustn't dawdle."

"Yes, Father." Scorpius follows obediently. He's rather looking forward to Easter, even though, at the same time, he's also dreading being away from Albus for so long. The two of them are continually growing to be more inseparable.

Sometimes Scorpius wonders whether that's such a good thing and altogether… _wise_, but he never worries about it for very long.

Albus is his dearest friend, maybe even his soul mate. Scorpius realises that he may be a little too young to think of someone in those terms, although something deep down in his heart which seems too deeply rooted and solid to be merely youthful naïveté tells him that this is genuine and _right_. Now if only...

Suddenly, a sharp, frantic shout behind them interrupts his musings.

Both Malfoys turn around to face a rattled looking Albus Potter. "I-I can't find him, Scorpy," the boy blurts out, clearly distraught.

"Find whom, Mister Potter?" Draco enquires, one eyebrow raised in question.

"M-My dad," Albus says. "He was supposed to be waiting here for me, but I don't see him anywhere. I-I don't know what I'm supposed to do now, I..."

"Well, your brother is standing over there," Draco begins, as Scorpius steps forward and takes Albus' hand, not caring in the slightest what his father might make of that gesture.

"No," Albus continues, giving Scorpius' hand a firm squeeze, "I really don't want to go with Mum, Mister Malfoy. I don't know why—I mean, I don't even understand why James and Lily... They know what's happened, and still... I mean, I'm sure it's mostly James' doing. He's such a pushover, especially towards Mum, and..."

"Excuse me for a second," Draco says, as Albus continues to rant on. "You two stay put, and I'll try to sort something out." He takes a deep breath, shakes his head in annoyance, and strides over to a familiar face he just noticed in the nearby distance.

The woman is buttoning up her daughter's coat and isn't aware of Draco's presence until he's standing right next to her.

"Granger," he says, "a word, if you please?"

Hermione frowns. "What do you want, Malfoy?" she asks, her voice more stern than intended but he did just startle her.

"Your good friend Potter," Draco states in a business-like manner, "for some unknown reason, has not turned up to meet and pick up Albus as arranged. Now, as I see it, there are two options: either you locate Potter and once you have, take the boy to him, or you send Albus home with Ginevra, though I sincerely doubt that's what he wants."

Hermione's eyebrows shoot up to her hairline. "Malfoy," she begins, confused, "why would you, of all people, even care what—" But then she stops herself mid-sentence and shrugs. This is neither the time nor the place for this type of confrontation, and besides, she is becoming rather worried as well. Why hasn't Harry kept his appointment? This isn't like him at all. What's going on?

"Very well," she says, and with Hugo and Rose close on her heel, she follows Draco to where Albus and Scorpius are standing.

From a distance, Ginny stares, but doesn't move to intervene or even say a word.

Draco spots the woman's baffled expression out of the corner of his eye, and can't help but be amused. _And this is only the beginning,_ he thinks smugly.

******

A few hours later the Owl arrives.

Reading the sloppily scripted missive a second time, Scorpius swallows hard. He curses silently to himself, feeling utterly powerless and wishing there was _something_ he could do to...

'Hang on,' he thinks, 'maybe there is; well, with a little help.'

His mind made up, he runs down the stairs and straight to the drawing room. "Grandmama!" he yells as he bursts through the door.

Narcissa looks up from the freshly cut flowers she's arranging. "What is it, darling? You look quite upset."

"Albus' dad is _not_ okay," Scorpius blurts out and clumsily thrusts the letter into his grandmother's hands.

Narcissa reads it quickly and in silence. Then, frowning in thought, she says, "Write your poor friend back this very instant and tell him to lower the Wards around his father's apartment immediately; can you do that? And he does know how to take down Wards, doesn't he?"

Scorpius nods. "Yes, he's had to do it once before."

"Thank Merlin. Right. Off you go then, sweetheart. No time to waste."

******

The Wards are down by the time they arrive at the flat, and the chaos that greets them as they walk through the front door makes Nercissa gasp in shock.

The living room looks like a rubbish tip. Empty dishes, paper cups and even pizza cartons are scattered all over the place. Scorpius screws his face up in total disgust when he spots the stale, half-eaten hamburger bun on the coffee table.

"Sorry about the mess," Albus says, rushing forward to greet his visitors. "I didn't know it was this bad until Aunt Hermione left and dad took off the glamour. I've tried cleaning some of it up, but unfortunately, a Scourgify won't do it properly. Otherwise I'm sure dad would have already taken care of it himself. Anyway," he rambles on, "I've been tidying up by hand because I don't want to get caught for using magic outside of school, but there's just loads of it..." He points towards the half-full bin bag in the corner. "I had no idea. I'm sorry you have to see this."

Scorpius gives his friend a small, encouraging smile. It saddens him deeply to realize how guilty, distraught and devastated Albus looks. The boy has obviously been crying, too.

"It's all right, Al," Scorpius says softly. "This isn't your fault." He places a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"Of course it isn't," Narcissa says kindly. "You're just the victim of some very unfortunate circumstances. And you needn't bother with cleaning all this up, Albus Severus. Our elves will take care of it. Go pack your things, dear. You'll be joining us at the Manor."

Albus' eyes widen. "I-I will?" he exclaims. "But what about my dad?"

"He'll be joining us as well," Narcissa states. "Where is he at present?"

"S-Sleeping," Albus stammers. He points towards a door on the right. "Through there."

"Very well." Narcissa gives a small nod and determinedly strides into the bedroom.

"Is she serious?" Albus asks, quietly so only Scorpius can hear.

"Oh yes. Grandmama definitely isn't the sort of person who'd joke about such things. Let's go and get your stuff, all right?"

"Yeah. Okay," Albus says and then adds softly, "I'm really glad you came, Scorpy."

"Me too," Scorpius says with a grin. "But you will have to knock it off with the 'Scorpy' business, though, Potter. I'm not some… Muggle cartoon dog."

"Um, that's actually Snoopy you're thinking of, not..."

"Whatever, Al. You heard Grandmama; let's go and fetch your stuff."

******

"Mister Potter," Narcissa says softly as she sits down on the bed. "Harry? Can you hear me?"

"Wha-" Harry bolts upright, looks around and blinks, temporarily disbelieving his own eyes. "Mrs. Malfoy? Is that you? How did you...? What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to take you and your youngest son back to the Manor with me, Mister Potter," Narcissa tells him evenly.

"What? But—"

"No _but_s, Harry. Albus Owled my grandson and asked for our help. And now that I've seen the ghastly state of this place with my own two eyes, I can only conclude that you're in no fit shape to look after your son, which, incidentally, is precisely the sort of thing that could be used against you in your divorce case also. It's quite fortunate that we found you, young man, and that it wasn't one of the Weasleys who dropped by instead."

"How do you know about..." Harry says, still confused.

"Your Arguer," Narcissa says simply, "was recommended to you by my son, remember?"

"Yes." Harry replies quickly, wondering if he could possibly seem any more wretched or stupid. "Yes, of course."

"If you're feeling up to it," Narcissa continues, "I suggest you get up and pack a suitcase. And I don't wish to seem rude or unpleasant, but you might want to take a quick shower as well, Mister Potter."

Harry inhales deeply and moves to stand. He doesn't understand why he obeys the woman without further question. He can only assume it's because arguing with her would take too much energy; energy he really doesn't possess at this very moment.

******

It's almost three in the morning when Draco finally arrives back at the Manor.

The meeting in Canterbury went on and on, and was mainly attended by people who loved the sound of their own voice. As such, nothing much of relevance was actually said, let alone accomplished, but then isn't that generally the way?

Feeling quite peckish despite his overwhelming fatigue, Draco makes his way to the kitchen. He opens the door and his jaw drops at the view that greets him.

"Potter," he exclaims, "what in the name of Merlin's burgundy boots are _you_ doing here?"

"I'm— er—" Harry quickly swallows down the mouthful of bread. He never expected Draco to barge in and he suddenly wishes he didn't look like crap, with his hair a mess, large bags under his eyes and clad in some old pyjamas and a ratty blue dressing gown he's had for ages.

Not that the way he looks really matters, he supposes. Draco will never be interested in him again, but still… Appearing this defeated and run down in front of _Malfoy_ is downright embarrassing, if nothing else.

"I… er…. The elves made chicken soup," Harry finally replies, gesturing towards the steaming bowl in front of him.

"Ah." Draco smirks. "Yes, well, obviously that completely solves the mystery of why you're sitting in my kitchen, stuffing your face in the dead of night, Potter. I'm ever so glad you cleared that up."

Harry frowns, and then he smiles, just for a moment. This is almost like old times; Draco snarking at him, but without the slightest hint of actual malice.

Harry opens his mouth to utter something in response, but is interrupted when suddenly a third voice says, "Albus Owled me, and we went and got him and brought him here, Father; Grandmama and I."

"And why are you still up and about, young man?" Draco asks the boy who just walked in. "It's well past your bedtime, Scorpius."

"Albus can't sleep, Father. I thought I'd get him some warm milk with honey."

"I see." Draco smiles wryly. "So there are two Potters presently staying under this roof; or are there even more?"

"No," Scorpius says simply. "Just two of them."

"Right."

Draco wonders how Lucius would feel about all this. Something between raving mad and nauseous, probably, or perhaps an interesting combination of both. He sincerely hopes his mother knows what she's doing. He gives Harry a questioning look. "So they just went and got you, did they?"

"Yeah," Harry says. "I-I was having a bad day. I was supposed to go to King's Cross and pick up Albus, but…"

Harry takes a deep breath. He probably shouldn't confide in Malfoy and tell him how dreadful these past couple of days have been, or how lost and desolate he feels. 'Some brilliant conquering hero I turned out to be,' Harry thinks bitterly and almost wishes Hermione were around to tell him to stop feeling so bloody sorry for himself.

"Yes, I know, Potter," Draco says dryly. "I was the one who spoke to Granger earlier. Didn't she mention that?"

"Yeah, she er… said." Harry coughs nervously, feeling more foolish by the second.

Fortunately, Draco doesn't seize the opportunity to taunt. "So how are you feeling now?" he asks instead; his genuine concern surprising Harry.

"Better," comes the honest response. "Your mother gave me a strong potion, so I got some sleep, and I woke up hungry, so I suppose that's a good sign, isn't it?"

Draco nods slowly. In another time, he would have sat down next to Harry and hugged him, but he knows he can't do that now. He shouldn't do that ever again. So instead, he says, "Yes, and I think it's about time I retire. Goodnight, Potter, and do get some sleep as well, Scorpius. Incidentally, you can always put some Firewhiskey in your little friend's milk. He'll be out like a candle."

Smirking, Draco strides out of the room.

"Don't worry. He wasn't really encouraging underage drinking, Mister Potter," Scorpius says matter-of-factly. "That's just his way. Father gets like that sometimes."

"Yes, I know." Harry smiles. "How's Albus?" he asks, guiltily. "I'm sorry if I…"

"He'll be just fine. He has me to take care of him, hasn't he? Actually…" Scorpius places the steaming jug of milk on a tray. "I should probably go check on him. Goodnight, Mister Potter. I hope you'll continue to get better."

"Thanks. Tell Al goodnight from me."

"Yes." Scorpius nods. "Of course, Sir."

The boy turns around and Harry watches him go; his head held high, taking proud, self-assured steps and looking like a miniature Draco; while the real Draco is just a few rooms away.

_So close and yet so far. _

Harry's heart clenches painfully as he bitterly wonders why he keeps losing the people he loves, one way or another.  



	13. Chapter 13

"Pass the milk, please, Scorpy."

The blond boy gives his friend a stern frown, grabs a bread roll and holds it up in a threatening manner.

"—us," Albus adds sheepishly.

Scorpius shakes his head as he hands his friend the small white jug. "You're a gigantic prat, Potter; did I ever mention that?"

Albus sticks out his tongue, and Scorpius is about to make a remark on juvenile antics, something he heard his father say once, when Narcissa walks in.

"Good morning, boys," she says brightly. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, Mrs. Malfoy," Albus replies quickly, but like his father, he's never been a terribly convincing liar.

"Albus had trouble falling asleep," Scorpius offers, "and he had a horrible nightmare as well."

Narcissa regards them both with a worried frown. "Oh dear."

"He er… stayed in my room," Scorpius adds. "You're all right with that, aren't you, Grandmama?"

Narcissa's frown deepens. "Sweetheart," she says, "I don't care where Albus sleeps, but if he was so distraught, why didn't you come and wake me? I could have given him a potion. He's a growing boy. He needs his rest." She smiles again. "At least you have a healthy appetite, Albus dear. Would you like some more bacon?"

Albus bites his lip, thinking things over for a moment, and then he nods slowly. When they share a meal at The Burrow, his grandma always encourages him to eat until he's full, so he supposes it's not impolite to accept a second helping when it's offered. Besides, he is still quite hungry. His aunt Hermione would probably say it's the healthy country air.

Albus tucks in again and Narcissa smiles approvingly.

She briefly wonders how close her grandson and the Potter boy actually are. She decides to discreetly watch them, and should their relationship clearly go beyond a crush on Scorpius' behalf, she will have to put her foot down and insist that her son stops trying to tear those boys apart. Scorpius obviously cares about Albus and they can both use a friend.

She carefully pours some milk over her muesli when Harry Potter walks in. He's dressed in Muggle attire, a T-shirt, jeans, and trainers. His hair is still slightly damp from the shower he just took and he looks rested and notably better than the day before.

"Hiya, dad!" Albus smiles widely.

"Mister Potter," Scorpius says with a polite nod.

"Good morning," Narcissa beams. She's relieved to note Harry's improved appearance. Just a few more days, she thinks, and he'll be able and ready to properly face the world again.

"Hello," Harry says. Taking in the scene before him, he's both disappointed and relieved that Draco is nowhere to be seen.

******

"Do you already have to leave, darling?" Blaise asks, not bothering to hide his disappointment. "I hoped we'd be able to spend the whole day together."

"Sorry, dear," Ginny replies, throwing the cloak around her shoulders. "But I explained this earlier, didn't I? I have to meet my mum at two. She's been looking after Lily this morning, and she was already quite suspicious when I said I had an urgent errand on the first day of the Easter Hols. It wouldn't do to be late and have her start an inquisition."

"Does she…?" Blaise frowns. "She doesn't know about us or the current… predicaments, does she?"

Ginny sighs. "I don't think so. I told Lily not to mention the di— the trouble with Harry to anyone, I said it was grown ups' stuff and nothing she should worry about, and Lily's a good kid, so I'm sure she wouldn't…"

"All right." Blaise nods, though he's not as reassured as he hopes he sounds.

"Oh, don't worry, darling." Ginny forces a smile. "We'll just have to be extremely careful for a while, especially when it comes to my family. I mean, Ron, I'm convinced, will understand; with him being divorced too and everything, but mum… Well, let me put it this way: when Hermione left Ron, mum didn't speak to either of them for weeks. She feels very strongly about couples staying together, no matter what."

"Charming. So a woman in her late thirties has to stay with a man who doesn't make her happy, just so her _mother_ wouldn't be upset and give her an earful?"

"No need to rub it in about my age, Zabini," Ginny snaps. "In case you've forgotten, you're a year older than I am!"

"I didn't mean it like that, love," he says with a pacifying smile. "You don't look a day over twenty-five and we both know it. I was merely implying that perhaps your mother is being a tad overbearing. I can't say I've ever had such trouble with mine."

Ginny takes a deep breath. There are a lot of things she could reply to that, none of them terribly kind towards Mrs. Zabini who still has the reputation of being the Wizarding World's equivalent of a black widow - even if nothing along those lines has ever been proven.

But in the end, Ginny doesn't utter a word. She guesses Blaise means well, and besides, it would be best to end this rendezvous on a pleasant note. This man represents her future after all, and there's really more than enough strife in her life already. She doesn't want to be at odds with him too.

"Anyway," she says. "I'm sorry, darling, but I really must leave now."

"When will I see you again?" He sounds mildly irritated, as well as a little concerned.

She kisses his cheek. "As soon as possible, darling. I promise."

Two minutes later, she Apparates to The Burrow, and braces herself for what she's been dreading all morning. Like her father, Lily Potter has yet to master the skill of keeping secrets, and Ginny can't shake the feeling that despite all her efforts and precautions, Molly has already managed to worm the truth out of the girl.

******

"Are you sure they're really here, love?" Ron asks softly.

"Yes," Lily says and then puts to him, "I showed you Al's Owl, didn't I, Uncle Ron?"

Ron nods slowly. With a tight smile, he pushes the bell next to the gate. In other circumstances, he'd probably be highly amused at the Muggle flavour of Malfoy Manor's security system, but right now he's far too rattled to even give the matter any thought.

Not before long, an elf appears.

"I'm here to…" Ron begins his carefully prepared speech.

"Mrs. Malfoy says, you go right through, Mister Weasley," the creature interrupts him.

"How did she—?" Ron blurts out.

The elf points at the security camera hovering above the gate and says, "Please to be following Trinky."

"Right." Ron takes a deep breath. He hopes he's doing the right thing by bringing the little girl here. He realises that his sister won't be impressed with him, and that his mother will definitively throw a fit when she finds out, but his niece did ask, practically begged to be taken to stay with her dad and although Ron and Harry may have grown apart over the years, only seeing one another at family occasions these days, Ron still considers Harry his best mate. Moreover, if the thing with Blaise Zabini ('of all people,' Ron thinks) is true, how can he possibly take Ginny's side? That type of behaviour is despicable in his book, especially if there are kids to consider.

Narcissa Malfoy is waiting for him in the drawing room.

"Mister— _Ronald_ Weasley, isn't it?" she asks with a smile before she turns to the little girl with the long shining red hair. "And you must be Lily."

Ron just nods, while Lily gives a timid, "Yes, Madam."

"Right then. Tea? Please, do take a seat."

She doesn't wait for an answer and soon an elf scurries in with a cup of tea for Ron and a glass of pumpkin juice for Lily.

Awkwardly, Ron sits down in an antique armchair. Lily soon follows his example.

"I've been expecting you," Narcissa states by means of explanation. "Well, one of you, at any rate."

Ron looks every bit as baffled as he feels.

"Albus sent off an Owl last night," Narcissa continues. "I assume, to inform his family, or some members of his family, of his and his father's present whereabouts. You _are_ a rather tight-knit family, aren't you?"

"Yeah," Ron mumbles, and adds, his voice tinged with bitterness, "Most of the time anyway."

"And yet you never saw this coming." Narcissa sighs.

For the briefest of moments, Ron is overcome with fury. Who does that snooty woman think she is, to make such a remark about his family? But then he sadly has to admit that she has a point.

To be honest, the Weasleys don't know each other as well as they used to. They no longer live in each other's pockets. Things changed drastically after the war, and certainly not in a good way, and now that he stops to think about it, he's deeply ashamed to discover how long it has been since he last saw Harry. Christmas Hols, wasn't it?

"Mrs. Malfoy, where's Harry?" he asks.

"He's resting, Mister Weasley. I've given him one of my potions."

Ron looks shocked, much to Narcissa's amusement. "Please", she says, "do try not to appear so aghast, Mister Weasley. Just because I've never had to seek employment doesn't make me entirely useless. I know my way around a cauldron, for one."

"Right. Er- sorry?" Ron says. He can't get rid of the feeling that he's way in over his head here. Talking to people like the Malfoys is really more Percy's thing.

"So…"Noting her visitor's hesitation, Narcissa decides to get straight to the heart of the matter. "I take it Miss Potter wishes to join her father and youngest brother here?"

"Yeah," Ron says. "So long that's okay with you as well, of course."

"Of course it is." Narcissa smiles.

"But why?" He has to ask.

"Firstly, Harry Potter saved my son's life during the war, Mister Weasley," Narcissa replies, "And secondly, I cannot and will not stand idly by and watch children suffer, especially if one of those children is my only grandson's closest friend."

Ron swallows hard. He never knew Narcissa could be so headstrong and determined, but then, he never knew the woman at all. She was just Draco Malfoy's mother to him, and add to that everything he'd been told about the Malfoys before. Maybe, just maybe, his initial assessment of her was wrong. Maybe…

"If you wish to see Mister Potter," Narcissa continues after a few moments of contemplative silence, "I'll let him know and he'll get in touch with you in a few days. He's still"—she chooses her words carefully so as not to upset Lily who's listening attentively—"rather fragile, and needless to say, for legal reasons alone, not to mention his personal wellbeing, an impromptu confrontation with Ginevra must be avoided at all costs, even if you do decide to meet him."

Ron nods quickly. "I wasn't planning on involving Ginny," he admits. "She doesn't even know we… er…."

"Do you mean to tell me, Mister Weasley, that you brought Lily here without Ginevra's consent _or_ knowledge?"

Ron nods and braces himself.

Again, Narcissa surprises him. "Well, young man," she says with a devious smile, "I must say, that's rather well-played for a Weasley."

Ron can't decide whether that was a compliment or an insult, but Narcissa Malfoy is still smiling at him in that bizarre way, so he reckons that simply returning the gesture is probably his safest bet.

******

Ten minutes before midnight, there is a hesitant knock at the door of the spacious study.

"Yes?" Draco calls out.

"Um, it's me," Harry says, slowly opening the door. "Can I come in?"

"Why would you want to do that, Potter?"

"Well… "Harry pushes the door open a little wider. "If your mother insists on me staying here; since you didn't join the rest of us for lunch or dinner, you might want to know that Lily has now also…"

"Yes, a Weasley dropped her off earlier. I heard." Draco doesn't look up from his book. "At least that explains the unsavoury whiff that assaulted me in the corridor earlier."

"Look, er, I'll just go, then," Harry mumbles. He doesn't understand why Draco continues being so unpleasant towards him, but far be it for Harry to impose.

"Potter," Draco says in a commanding tone. He doesn't mean to sound harsh, but his defences are up. "Why don't you just come all the way in, sit down and say what you have to say, so we may get this over with?"

"Right." Harry closes the door behind him. "I er- just want to clear the air."

"Fine." Draco finally puts his book down. "Go on. I'm listening."

"Our sons, they're…"

"Yes, Potter?"

"They've become quite close, and…" Harry hesitates once more.

Draco rolls his eyes. "If you have a point to make," he snaps, "do feel free to get to it."

"Right." Harry swallows hard. He sits down next to Draco on the sofa and gives him a pleading, almost desperate look. "Well, the thing is, I'm extremely grateful to your mother that I can stay here along with Albus and Lily, and I was thinking, Malfoy, while I'm at the Manor, we"—he takes Draco's hand—"I mean, that is, you and I, um—"

"Look, Potter," Draco snaps, scooting back and pulling his hand away, "if this is some feeble attempt at getting a sympathy shag out of me, I suggest you expel all such thoughts from your mind right this instant. Not only am I _not_ interested, I'm also no longer naïve enough to presume…"

"God. No, I don't want... _that_," Harry chokes out, deeply hurt at the implication that his sole purpose for coming here was to bed the other man.

Draco sneers. "Then what _do_ you want from me, Potter?"

"I don't." Harry looks devastated. "I don't want anything _from_ you, Mal- _Draco_. It's just… Can't we at least try to be... civil towards one another, if only for the children's sakes? I mean, Al…" Harry smiles wryly. "The way Albus talks about Scorpius sometimes. Well, Scorpius is pretty much all he has talked about since they first met. Did you know that? And besides, you and me, we…" He takes a deep breath. "Why can't we try to get along, Draco? What happened between us all those years ago; we were so young. It's been decades since then, and…"

Harry swallows, choking back a sob. He can't comprehend any of this and almost refuses to believe that what they once shared meant nothing, but he supposes he has no choice but to accept those bitter facts because clearly, to Draco, it was all just a passing distraction, a way to get through the war, or otherwise he never would have…

Harry takes a deep breath, readying himself to leave. He wonders whether he should find alternate accommodation for Albus, Lily and himself because this situation is bound to lead to trouble eventually. No matter how kind and supportive Narcissa and Scorpius are being, Draco clearly doesn't want him here, and Harry cannot bear being shunned and rejected over and over.

Of course, he realises that if he does leave, both Albus and Scorpius will be devastated, but…

Harry shakes his head sadly. He can see no feasible way out of this terrible mess.

His hands are shaking visibly and he's disgusted with himself for being on the verge of tears yet again.

Witnessing Harry's obvious distress, Draco feels his resolve crumble. "All right, Potter," he says just as the other man reaches the door. "I suppose we could try, you and I, to… be more like friends? For Scorpius and Albus' sake."

At those simple words, Harry unravels. Unsteadily, he staggers back to the sofa. Trembling from head to toe, he plops himself down, puts his head in his hands, and then the tears finally fall.

Draco gulps. He hadn't expected anything like this. Overwrought with worry and guilt, he shifts slightly closer to place a tentative hand on Harry's shoulder. "Potter?" he says softly. "Harry?"

Harry looks up. Grief and shame are written all over his pale face.

Hesitantly, Draco holds out his hand, which, to his great dismay, is trembling too. He doesn't say a word and for a few awkward moments the weight of the wordless invitation hangs over them, like Damocles' sword ready to fall, until Harry finally moves closer.

Draco instantly wraps an arm around him, just like he used to, all those years ago.

Harry is still shuddering, but he soon relaxes, closing his eyes and resting his head against Draco's shoulder.

Draco sighs. It feels odd and unsettlingly familiar to have Potter, _Harry_, in his arms once again. With his left hand, he slowly rubs soothing circles over the man's back, and he almost gasps in disbelief when he can feel the outline of Harry's spine through his T-shirt. When did he get so painfully thin, Draco wonders? This can't have happened over the course of just a few weeks.

Draco swallows thickly. It's on the tip of his tongue to ask Harry how long he's been feeling so miserable and depressed, but then he notices that the man has fallen asleep and looks quite content, nothing like he did a few moments ago. It wouldn't do to wake him again.

Draco lets out another deep sigh.

Common sense dictates that he should get up and leave, but he can't bring himself to move a muscle. He's far too worried, though he knows he probably shouldn't be. It's a bad idea to care and to let down his guard.

_Too late now,_ Draco decides wryly.

He whispers "Nox," levitates a pillow and places it underneath his head; carefully, so as not to disturb his sleeping companion.

Then he closes his eyes and resigns himself to another restless night and the uncertain morning that is sure to follow.  



	14. Chapter 14

The first feeling Harry experiences upon waking is confusion. He reaches out, trying to find his glasses, and discovers them on the nearby coffee table.

He looks around the tastefully decorated room with its antique, expensive furniture, and his second feeling is one of disappointment. He distinctly and all too vividly remembers falling asleep in Draco Malfoy's study, on the sofa, with Draco's arms around him. Now, of course, the man is nowhere to be seen, and Harry would willingly bet his last Knut that he won't be back any time soon either, not like that one time when...

Harry sighs deeply.

He knows it's not wise to reminisce, especially given his current situation. He should let go of the past once and for all, and put all his efforts in laying the foundations of a feasible future.

However, his nostalgia is far stronger than he, himself, is. Soon his mind drifts to one of many mornings, mid-war…

******

_"You came back," Harry says with a relieved smile. He has just finished getting dressed when the flap opens._

_"This is, after all, my tent, Potter," comes the offhanded reply. "Anyway, I was awake, so I ventured out among the masses to grab a bite to eat, and guess what I found?" With a triumphant smirk, he hands Harry a brown paper bag. "I thought you might like some of these, too. My heartfelt apologies for the lack of butter and jam, incidentally, but it seems there is a war on."_

_Harry peeks inside and spots four large, freshly baked scones._

_"Two for you and two for me," Draco offers. "Seems some generous soul Apparated to a Muggle bakery. Luckily, I arrived at the main tent nice and early before Goyle or Ronald Weasley had the opportunity to scoff the lot."_

_Harry smiles._

_"Here." Draco takes out a scone and hands it to Harry. "Careful, though, don't burn yourself. It's still a bit hot."_

_Harry nods. When he accepts the scone, their fingers brush, and the accidental contact sends a pleasant tingle up and down his spine. "Thanks," he says softly and takes a bite. The scone tastes just as delicious as it smells._

_"Watch it, Potter," Draco says teasingly. "You'll get crumbs all over the place."_

_"I'll be sure to Scourgify before we go." He gives his companion a questioning look. "We don't have to go just yet, though, do we?"_

_"No. There are no manoeuvres scheduled, as far as I know, and there were no messages on the bulletin board either. I guess they feel even their hero needs the occasional Sunday off."_

_"Draco?" Harry says hesitantly, after a few long seconds of silence._

_"Hm?" he replies, examining his scone with great interest._

_"I—"_

_Harry blushes. He wants to say the words; he knows he should, soon, before this is all over and everyone is forced to return to their usual routine. He really ought to express how much this means to him, how much Draco does, but the right words won't come, and besides, he's terrified to utter them because what if Draco doesn't feel the same? What if Harry's confession ruins what they have? What if falling in love with this boy is the daftest thing he has ever done?_

_"Is there something wrong?" Draco looks concerned. "You've gone all pale, Harry."_

_"No, it's just..." Harry gulps at the sound of his first name. That was certainly unexpected. Draco generally only uses it during their more intimate moments. "I mean," he adds quickly, struggling to regain his composure, "thanks. I'm happy we er— This is nice."_

_"Yes, it is. Very nice." Draco leans closer and kisses Harry's cheek. "Bon appétit," he says and takes his first bite._

_Harry smiles and continues eating. 'Tomorrow,' he thinks determinedly. 'I'll tell him how I feel about him tomorrow.'_

******

Harry shakes his head. He never did say a word about it, not the following day or the one after that, and now, looking back, he still can't decide whether that was a good or a bad thing.

If he had said something, would Draco have left angrily, or laughed at him, or ran a mile in the opposite direction? Or would he have done the unthinkable, the unexpected, the one thing Harry hadn't dared hope for, and admitted he actually returned Harry's feelings?

Probably not, Harry thinks sadly, and if he's entirely realistic about the matter, he still doesn't have a single hope on that front.

Perhaps, all things considered, he should regret his past involvement with Draco. If the two of them had never begun their… whatever it was, Ginny would have been Harry's first, and he needn't have lied to her by omission.

"You never slept with Cho, did you?" was her blunt, out-of-nowhere question on that dreary December afternoon.

And he replied "No," because he hadn't. They'd only ever shared a few chaste kisses.

But during that conversation he also didn't breathe a word about the fact that Cho hadn't been the only one he'd ever been in love with, and consequently, an enormous dark secret with many implications hung over their married life during all those years.

Here and now, Harry can't help but wonder whether that's partly the reason for Ginny's infidelity. After all, you don't just cheat on someone for the hell of it, do you? Maybe his wife sensed, deep down, that something was being kept from her, that something wasn't altogether 'right', no matter how much he loved her.

And Harry did love her. Even now, after finding out about her and Zabini, part of him still does, and although he realises that their relationship is definitely over, Harry will never stop caring about her, in spite of everything.

Still, all 'if's and 'but's aside, Harry can't bring himself to muster up any remorse about Draco being his first real and true love either.

For nothing in the world would he take back those nights: the burning passion between them, the unexpected tenderness and how comforting and _safe_ it felt to just lie in Draco's arms.

And whether his feelings of love were ever reciprocated or not, the memories still warm Harry's heart and fill him with happiness.

Perhaps, he decides, it's for the best that he never asked Draco how he felt about their liaison. It would have been utterly devastating if a bitter truth had ever emerged to taint and shatter those beautiful moments.

Harry shakes his head in an attempt to clear his mind and snap himself back to the present.

He rises from the sofa, walks out of the room and heads back to his guest quarters.

A shower first, he thinks, then breakfast, and then he'll deal with the rest of the day.

******

Shuffling her feet slightly, Lily makes her way into the dining room. Everyone has been really kind to her since she arrived at the Manor, especially Mrs. Malfoy, but new, unfamiliar surroundings always make her feel a little shy and not quite like her usual spontaneous, carefree self.

"Your hair is really pretty this morning, Lily," Albus says, smiling.

The girl is instantly more at ease. "Thanks," she beams, taking a seat. "Mrs. Malfoy braided it for me. The ribbons are _silk_, you know."

Draco smiles despite himself. It was to be expected that his mother would fawn over the dainty little girl. She confided in him once, long ago, that she would have liked to have had more children, but Lucius hadn't thought it wise, if only for inheritance reasons.

"Where is Grandmama?" Scorpius asks. It's highly unusual for Narcissa to be late at the breakfast table.

"She dashed out," Lily said. "She said something about London. She'll be back later, though."

"Uh-oh, brace yourselves!" Scorpius declares with a wide grin. "She's gone shopping!"

Albus rolls his eyes and steals a sideways glance at his best friend. Scorpius has noticed. He gives Albus a cheeky wink, and the boy blushes furiously.

'Brilliant,' Albus thinks wryly, mentally kicking himself ten shades of purple, 'so I've actually developed a terrible crush on my best friend, and he can't even look at me now without me turning into a bloody Hufflepuff— a _female_ Hufflepuff. Just marvellous!'

Albus stayed in Lily's room the previous night. He slept in a bed that had been a sofa before, and even though he enjoyed a very restful sleep and didn't mind keeping his sister company while she was still quite upset, he also missed snuggling with Scorpius, and Albus wonders if it's normal to be this attached to someone, to miss them so much when they're not around that the sense of loss almost hurts.

Albus suppresses a sigh. He wishes he could talk to someone about this, but he can't think of a single suitable candidate. Usually, Scorpius is the one he goes to whenever he has something on his mind or he needs any kind of advice, but this time around, Scorpius is actually the whole reason why Albus…

_Oh bugger. _

Nervously raking a hand through his hair—old habits die hard, apparently, Harry walks in. "Hello," he says with a small, hesitant smile.

He's about to say more, but when he spots the large plate in the middle of the table, his breath catches in his throat and all words fail him.

Fresh scones.

Harry blinks. Is this a coincidence? He gives Draco a questioning look, but the cryptic smile he receives in response doesn't make him a whole lot wiser.

******

"Malfoy Manor?" Ginny enquires with a deep frown. "Are you absolutely certain, James? I mean— Sweet Merlin!"

The boy nods. "That's what Lily's Owl said, mum. I have to admit, it is kind of bizarre, but seeing Scorpius is Albus' best friend… Maybe the Malfoys want to help?"

Ginny clenches her fists. "Malfoys, help?" She lets out a shrill, humourless laugh. "That'll be a cold day in hell, James! So…" she throws him an almost accusing look. "Are you planning on joining them too?"

James looks completely flabbergasted at the suggestion. "Well, er… no," he replies, in an even tone so as not to upset his mother any further. "I thought you might need me here with you, mum, unless you'd rather…" James takes a deep breath "I don't know what to say to you, mum. I really don't. I'm trying not to take sides in all this, because I love you both, but if you'd prefer I stay with dad, then I guess…"

"No," Ginny says quickly. "Please, sweetheart, don't think that. I like having you around, and just because… things didn't work out with your dad and me… well, that doesn't mean… You know I love you and Albus and Lily with all my heart, don't you?"

James nods slowly. He has no reason to doubt that, even though he doesn't understand how she can just rip their family apart, choose some other man over her children's father.

"And when your dad and I…" Ginny continues, but she never gets the chance to finish that sentence.

Without warning, Blaise bursts into the room.

James is stunned that lover boy, who's still a total stranger to him, can apparently just waltz in and out of their family home as he pleases, but James thinks it unwise to say anything, so he remains silent. Then he notices the huge purple bruise on Zabini's face, and he's not the only one.

"Oh my goodness!" Ginny exclaims. "Wha-What happened to you, darling? Were you mugged?"

"No," Blaise says grimly. "Your brother happened."

Ginny frowns. "Which one?"

"I'm afraid he never took the time to introduce himself. A big tall, muscular bloke, pony tail, dragon tattoo on his right forearm..."

"That'd be Charlie," Ginny says. "Did he...?"

"He called me a sneaky, home-wrecking piece of shit and then proceeded to punch me right in the face." More annoyed than anything else, Blaise shakes his head. "Your family and I are going to get along like a house on fire, Ginny, I can tell."

She sighs deeply. "Oh, you poor dear. I'm terribly sorry."

"Not to worry, love," Blaise says with a dark sneer. "Charlie-boy will be sneezing soap bubbles for weeks. Turns out he's not quite as good with his hexes as he is with his fists."

Ginny sighs again. "Let me put some ice on that, love. I'll talk to Charlie later."

'And fix this,' she thinks, 'or ask Hermione to, provided Hermione is still willing to speak to me.'

James watches silently as his mother and Zabini make their way to the kitchen. He can't help but feel more than a little insulted that the man didn't even acknowledge his presence. James still refuses to take sides in his parents' faltering marriage, but nonetheless he has already come to loathe the pretentious git his mother is seeing.


	15. Chapter 15

  
_Harry slowly runs his index finger along Draco's bare arm. The lack of a Dark Mark there still puzzles him just as much as it did when he first realised it, but it's nowhere near as baffling as Draco's spontaneous attempt to explain the why and how._

_"Father preferred not to have me Marked while I was still at school, especially if I went on playing Quidditch," the boy says with obvious hesitation, "and fortunately for all of us, he managed to convince the Dar—Him of the same."_

_Harry frowns. "But you didn't actually—"_

_"No," Draco says softly, "but the Dark Lord didn't know that, thank Merlin. Neither did I at the time, come to think of it, but there you go." He gives a small, apologetic smile._

_"So," Harry continues, almost stumbling over his words, "your father was actually protecting you. He never intended for you to…"_

_Draco's tone soon becomes reluctant and defensive. "Unbelievable though this may sound to you, Potter," he replies, "but Father does care deeply for Mother and myself."_

_Harry hesitates. He knows that, from a strategist's point of view, he should probably seize what appears to be the ideal opportunity to try to find out more, to suss out once and for all which side the Malfoys have chosen in this war, but then Draco scoots closer and instantly Harry is reminded that this, what they share, isn't about the war._

_Or perhaps, from a certain angle, it could be, but regardless…_

_Harry doesn't want that, and he certainly doesn't intend to take advantage of Draco. That's not his style and moreover, if he's entirely honest with himself, he would very much like this arrangement to last; against all odds as well as his better judgment. Their hostile past was bad enough; he doesn't want to risk jeopardising their future as well… Or is it really too naïve on his part to assume they even have one?_

_"Quit brooding, Potter," Draco says, smiling. "Judging from the look on your face, whatever's going on in that muddled mind of yours clearly isn't improving your mood." He softly kisses Harry's forehead and adds slyly, "Do you realise it's only ten? And we don't have any early meetings or perilous expeditions planned tomorrow morning. I don't know about you, but I wouldn't mind going for seconds. That is"—with a devious grin, he pauses for effect—"provided you can muster up the stamina."_

_All earlier glumness forgotten, Harry grins back. "Try me."_

_Somewhere at the back of his mind, he's still curious and determined to find out the truth, but he decides he'll just have to try to accomplish that in some other way._

_And besides, right now, Lucius and Narcissa's motives don't matter to him all that much. Nothing matters, except the way Draco's hands and lips are seeking out places the boy has got to know so well._

******

Harry stares out of the large veranda windows and lets out a deep sigh at the sight of Albus and Scorpius. The boys are sitting companionably on a large blanket on the grass, back to back, reading, and it's quite uncanny how the two of them seem so perfectly in tune.

Is that how Draco and himself might have been? The mere thought makes his heart plummet with immense regret. Once again he wonders what the outcome would have been if he had accepted Draco's offer of friendship on that fateful first of September all those years ago. Would they have become true friends, or regardless of a more hopeful start, would they have ended up bitter rivals anyway? And would he have fallen for him too, eventually?

Harry shakes his head. Here he goes again, making pointless speculations about a past he cannot change, no matter how badly he might want to.

He reminds himself of what he should be doing now instead of… _brooding_. He should contact Mister Heimdall without further ado and finally get the legal paperwork in order.

And then, as soon as the divorce is settled, Harry will be in a position to lay the foundations for a new life. He'll be able to start afresh, possibly in another country or even on another continent. It'll be a whole new beginning, and he'll only return to Britain for the school holidays, to spend time with his children.

Yes, he decides, that's a far better plan than just sticking around here, wallowing in remorse and self-pity.

His marriage to Ginny has failed, and it's not as though Draco would ever be interested to pick things up again where they ended so badly well over two decades ago.

_Oh, bollocks! What a terrible mess! Almost forty and right back where I started. _ Harry grits his teeth and as if on cue, Draco saunters into the room.

Harry turns around, surprised, and just in time, he manages to stop himself from staring. Typical, he thinks bitterly, how that man always manages to be meticulously dressed, while he, himself, looks…

"What is it, Potter?" Draco remarks offhandedly. "You seem astonished to see me. I do, in fact, live here, you know."

"Yeah, I-I know," Harry mutters dumbly, for wont of anything witty to say.

"What were you looking at?" Draco asks, but he doesn't wait for a response. He walks over to the windows and grins when he spots the scene outside.

"Well, well, well," he says with an amused shake of his head. "If it isn't the terrors of Hogwarts. From here, however, I must say they look rather harmless. Possibly they're still in the plotting stages of their next undertaking."

Harry has to crack a smile at that. He clears his throat. "What are your plans for the rest of the afternoon?"

"Taking care of the accounts," Draco replies, sounding bored. "Sadly, they don't do that themselves, nor would I trust anyone else to check them for me, not even the goblins. I suppose I'll see you at dinner, then?"

"Yes, I-I think so," Harry says, confused by the odd direction this conversation is taking. Though, he admits, it's probably no more bizarre than the way he just asked Draco about his plans for the rest of the day, as if he was about to suggest spending some time together. That would, no doubt, not have gone down well, even if they did agree to act more like friends.

"Later, then," Draco reiterates and with an unreadable smile on his face, he exits the room again.

Harry frowns. Suddenly it dawns on him: what was Draco even doing here? He just walked in and out of the room, without any clear purpose or reason.

_He wasn't actually checking up on me, was he?_ Harry wonders.

_Probably not,_ he decides, but it was a nice thought while it lasted.

  
******

  
"Your dad was watching us just now," Scorpius says conversationally, "and then, maybe ten minutes later, Father showed up, too."

"Oh?" Feeling quite anxious all of a sudden, Albus whips his head around. "W-Why would they do that? They didn't seem angry or anything, did they?"

Scorpius shrugs. "No, and I have no idea why they were there, either. Don't worry about it, though. They've got nothing on us. It's not like they caught us kissing or something."

"No. Fat chance of them catching us doing _that_ anymore," Albus snaps without thinking, and as soon as he realises what he just said, he blushes furiously.

"What?" Scorpius moves to the other side of the blanket to sit in front of his friend. "What are you talking about? I kiss you goodnight every night, and I kiss you goodbye and good morning too. I don't see how…"

"Yeah, all right." Albus puts his book down and tries to avoid looking at Scorpius, even when the boy waves a hand in front of Albus' face rather demonstratively.

"What _is_ it, Potter?" Scorpius insists. "What do you mean?"

"N-Nothing," Albus stammers. He's feeling more ridiculous by the second. When will he finally learn to keep his big mouth shut? It only gets him in trouble, every single time.

"Don't lie to me, Potter!" Scorpius doesn't mean to shout—really, he doesn't—but Albus can be a very stubborn prat when he puts his mind to it, and as a Malfoy and a spoiled only child who's used to getting what he wants at a snap of his fingers or a pleading look in the general direction of his grandmother, Scorpius only has so much patience to spend. "Spit it out, Potter," he tries again, angrily, "or you can forget all about me kissing you or even speaking to you ever again!"

"Well, I… I mean, it's nothing you did, not at all. It's just…" Albus takes a deep breath. "I-I've got this huge crush on you, Scorpy," he blurts out and hides his face in his hands.

"Oh."

For a few long moments, both boys don't utter a word, until Albus finally breaks the awkward silence. "You're not… _mad_ at me, are you?" he asks shyly. Only then does he notice that his friend is blushing too, and that's not like Scorpius at all, normally.

"No," Scorpius admits. "I think we… I think you and I are more or less in the same boat er… as far as that's concerned."

Albus' eyes widen. "Really?"

Scorpius sighs. "Couldn't you _tell_?"

"No."

"Oh, honestly, Potter!"

Another silence sets in, but it's a lot less painful than the first.

Slowly, Albus' face breaks into a wide grin. After all, this is _good_ news, isn't it? Scorpius likes him back, actually likes him back. Albus is sure he can feel his heart do a little jig. "So er…now what?" he asks, stuck somewhere between giddiness and confusion.

Scorpius runs a hand through his hair. "I haven't the foggiest, Al."

"You could kiss me again," Albus suggests matter-of-factly, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

Scorpius' eyes twinkle with mischief when he does.

******

  
Draco pores over the second of four thick books and lets out a long, weary sigh.

As far as he's concerned, this has to be one of the most boring tasks in the world, but given the vast amount of money involved, he really doesn't feel comfortable letting someone else do it.

These are strange times after all, and ever since the war, people's loyalties are no longer what they used to be.

Not that he expected anything different. You don't just turn your back on the Dark Lord and quite a few of your fellow purebloods. Actions like that are bound to have consequences, and might inspire a few grudges, too.

Draco shakes his head, willing himself back to the here and now, and to the many Malfoy investments.

Then, unexpectedly, a small, unfamiliar brown owl flies through the open window and into the room. The envelope it drops on the desk before flying off again is a welcome distraction.

Draco doesn't recognise the writing, but is stunned when he sees the sender's name: _J.Potter. _

He looks twice to make certain that the missive really is addressed to him (it is), and then he takes out the letter.

Its contents are brief and to the point:

  
_Mister Malfoy,_

_Though I realise the two of us have never spoken, I'm afraid the present circumstances force me to contact you regardless. I apologise for the intrusion and for involving you in something you probably want no part of._

_The truth of the matter is that I'm very concerned about the members of my family who are currently guests at your home, and unfortunately, I have no one to turn to for honest, accurate information about their wellbeing but yourself. Despite the fact that I'll be coming of age soon, people still insist on treating me like a child and refuse to tell me how my father, brother and sister are really coping with this separation, or if there is anything I can do to help them._

_I'm well aware my father has never been your friend, but I hope I can still appeal to you as someone to whom his family is also of great importance. Please write back and do tell me if there is anything I should know. Once again, I apologise for bothering you._

_Respectfully,_  
_ — James Potter_

 

Draco reads the letter three more times before he finally understands its implication.

Harry's oldest son is asking for his help, and the sheer irony of that might have been funny if it weren't for the fact that nothing about this whole wretched situation is even close to amusing.

That boy—well, young man, really, almost seventeen—must be torn, confused and worried out of his mind.

Draco shakes his head. Though part of him still wants to walk away, forget all about Potter and the obvious baggage the man Apparated in with, and never look back, he's also well aware that he can't.

Despite himself, he cares too much, all over again, and he can't decide whether this should make him laugh, cry or follow his father's age-old example and fire some bullets at some of the beautiful garden gnomes in an impromptu shooting range.

Or perhaps, he thinks, he should just send James a reply. That couldn't actually do any harm, could it?

Draco takes his quill, pulls a fresh piece of parchment from his desk drawer and composes a response:

  
_Mister Potter,_

_Indeed we have never spoken, and I suppose I could start this off by stating something about desperate times and measures, but I feel bare facts will be of more use to you than tired old clichés, so allow me to simply cut to the chase instead._

_Your father is coping reasonably well, given the circumstances. Potions are helping him deal with his insomnia and distress, and as we both know, the man has always been a fighter. So at this point, I'm going to take a leap of faith by saying that you probably have nothing to worry about. He is upset, as anyone would be, but I'm confident he'll be fine once all is said and done._

_In a similar vein, your sister is being distracted and kept rather entertained with books, toys, clothes, and, I believe, an extensive shopping trip tomorrow, while your brother has barely left my son's side since he got here (as seems to be the norm for those two, I've found)._

_So, all things considered, in my opinion, your family is handling matters quite well._

Draco takes a deep breath and hesitates before he writes the next part. He doesn't even realise how badly his hands are shaking until his usually elegant penmanship suddenly takes on a rather odd slant. 

_Should this change, I will take it upon myself to inform you right away, and similarly, should you ever feel the need to see your father or siblings or to get away from your current living arrangements, rest assured that you would be most welcome here._

_Cordially,_  
_ — Draco Malfoy._

  
Draco summons one of the owls and sends off the letter. Truthfully, he doesn't even know why he practically invited Harry's oldest son to the Manor, except that it felt like the right thing to do.

Were he a Muggleborn, he might have tried to blame his uncharacteristic behaviour on an early mid-life crisis, but since he knows wizards easily live to be over a hundred and more, such a conclusion wouldn't make any sense.

Either way, though, one thing he now knows for certain.

For the sake of everyone involved, especially the youngsters, he'll have to do his utmost to strike up a genuine friendship with Harry Potter, and he's already well aware this won't be an easy task, not while he still wants to share so much more than just friendship with the man.


	16. Chapter 16

Standing by the pond, the soft spring breeze gently caressing his face, Harry is vaguely reminded of many similar hours spent on the banks of Hogwarts' lake. Back then, he'd gaze out over the water and contemplate life, too, and he rarely ended up with any useful answers either.

About an hour ago, he finally called Henrich Heimdall. He'll be meeting with the man tomorrow morning, and whatever happens next is largely in the hands of the legal experts, though in all honesty, Harry would prefer for matters to be settled amicably, primarily for the children's benefit, but also for his own peace of mind.

He's still upset and deeply disappointed by Ginny's infidelity, but at the same time, he also feels guilty, partly responsible, for what she did. Perhaps he could have been—should have been—a better husband to her and then maybe this never would have happened.

So often, he was away on an assignment, sometimes for several weeks at a time, and even when he was home, he…

Truth be told, Harry never was the romantic type. He never felt comfortable with that sort of stuff. It always seemed orchestrated—fake—to him, but he has to admit that Ginny is the type of woman who likes to be swept off her feet now and again, so maybe he should have tried harder for her sake and ignored his own feelings on the matter. Whichever the case, he clearly failed at being the kind of husband she needed; that much is painfully obvious now.

"Mister Potter," Narcissa softly interrupts his musings.

Slightly startled because he never heard her approach, Harry turns to face her. "Mrs Malfoy," he says with a sheepish smile.

The woman smiles back. "Enjoying my gardens, I see. I'm quite proud of the way the pond turned out. The lilies and irises complement one another perfectly, even if I do say so myself."

"Yes, it looks very nice," Harry agrees, feeling slightly lost for words. He's never been terribly good at small talk.

"So," she swiftly changes the subject. "If you don't mind me asking, how are you holding up? I hope you're not feeling any unpleasant side-effects from my potions?"

He shakes his head. "No, I just feel… numb at times," he replies, surprising them both with his straightforward honesty.

"Such is to be expected, I suppose. Break-ups are never easy." Narcissa lays a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You have wonderful children, though. Lily and Albus are positively charming, and I expect their big brother must be as well."

To his embarrassment, Harry feels close to tears again. "Thank you," he says softly. "Yes, I'm very proud of James. He's growing up into a fine young man."

"There you go." Narcissa smiles. "Please do always try to remember this at times when things might look bleak and pointless, Mister Potter. Just because a person's marriage has failed, doesn't mean his whole life has. Relationships change, evolve, and sometimes they fall apart completely. That's life."

Harry swallows the lump in his throat. Funny, he thinks, how he once considered Narcissa Malfoy to be just a pretty face, a glittering prize on her husband's arm. Now, however, he realises she's far more than that and he feels rather bad for having underestimated her for so long. "Thank you," he says again.

"Come on." She holds out her arm. "Dinner will be served shortly. You have to eat, you know, keep your strength up."

Harry nods, and not another word is spoken as they walk back to the Manor.

  
******

  
"I didn't know you two were snogging now," Lily says, her tone laced with accusation. "Aren't you supposed to tell me such things, Albus Severus?"

"Why on earth should I?" he challenges despite his obvious embarrassment.

"That falls under a little sister's special privileges," she replies simply.

Albus blinks. "You just made that up!"

"Maybe," she admits. "But still, if I had a boyfriend, I'd certainly tell you all about him."

Albus shakes his head. "You're far too young to have a boyfriend already, Lily."

"Is that so?" she snaps. "You're only one year older than I am and you've already got one. What's good for the gander is also good for the goose, as Gran always says."

Albus' eyes grow impossibly wide. "Um, Scorpius isn't exactly…"

She crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow at him. "Oh? You secretly kiss Hugo Weasley as well, do you?"

Albus makes a face. "That's a horrible, disgusting thing to say."

"Well, there you go, then." She flashes him a triumphant grin. "You, Albus, do have a boyfriend, and I should have seen it coming, I suppose…"

"Really?" Albus' previous indignation is replaced by genuine curiosity. "Why's that?"

"The two of you were like two peas in a pod right from the very start, weren't you?"

Albus doesn't need to think about his answer for long. "Yeah. I guess we were," he says, smiling, and this realisation is sufficient to chase away most of his remaining doubts about all of this. Fancying another boy is perfectly fine, he decides, and it's not necessarily stupid to fall for your best friend, either, not when it feels so right when the two of you are together.

Moreover, Lily confirms it's okay, and she's usually right about this sort of thing and besides, Albus has to admit, too, that 'boyfriend' does have a rather nice ring to it.

******

Draco softly closes the study door behind him. With a deep sigh, he slumps down on his sofa. In his mind, he can hear his mother's voice scold him:

_"Don't slouch, darling. Bad posture makes you look frumpy, and it's absolutely terrible for your back!" _

For once, however, he's not in the mood to care. He has other, more pressing worries on his mind.

He didn't mean to eavesdrop on the Potter kids; he just happened to walk past the drawing room where they were chatting so animatedly, and once he realised what their conversation was about, he couldn't bring himself to just walk on by and ignore it.

And thus, he now knows about the latest developments: his son and Albus Potter are definitely an item.

After the way Draco found them snuggled up together at Hogwarts, this comes as no great surprise to him, even though it does fill him with some concern. Those boys are barely fourteen. What if this turns out to be a huge mistake, an experiment that will cause them both great pain eventually?

When Draco was their age, he developed a celebrity crush on Viktor Krum, but when he met Krum a year later, and felt nothing beyond admiration and camaraderie for him, he decided it had only been a simple case of hero worship.

It wasn't until he was sixteen that Draco truly started to question his sexual orientation. Around the same time he also discovered, to his great horror, that his hate for Harry Potter wasn't quite hate at all, but rather an odd sort of attraction, a case of opposites making each other spin out of control.

Then that fateful night in sixth year occurred.

Draco was crying in a bathroom. He was deeply distraught and overwhelmed by all the pressure he was under, pressure to complete that horrible task he didn't think he'd ever be able to pull off, no matter how badly he wanted to save his parents—or himself. He was on the verge of breaking down. He was ready to beg to be saved, to crawl into the arms of the one he'd longed to be close to for so long.

Sadly, fate had different plans.

One _Sectumsempra_ and everything swiftly went to hell.

Draco shakes his head. He shouldn't think about any of that anymore. It's so long ago, and besides, the matter to be dealt with here is the relationship between Scorpius and Albus.

Draco takes a deep breath. It would be hypocritical for him to disapprove, especially while in his heart of hearts, he doesn't. Not anymore. Above all, he wishes for his son to be happy, and if this happiness involves Albus Potter, so be it.

Still, he decides, he probably ought to have a word with Scorpius regardless.

Draco remembers his own teenage years well, and he wouldn't want the two lovebirds to end up doing something they're not quite ready for. Kissing is one thing, but he'll need to convince his son that any kind of heavy 'experimenting' definitely isn't on the cards for at least another three years, not until Scorpius and Albus are mature enough, emotionally, to handle that level of intimacy.

Draco suspects it won't be an easy conversation and he will have to tread carefully, but maybe threatening his son with a drastic change in sleeping arrangements might just get his point across.

******

Narcissa, Harry and the three teens are already seated at the large dining room table when Draco walks in. "Good evening," he says, making his way to his usual chair.

"Hello," Harry replies awkwardly, but his words are drowned out by Narcissa's enthusiastic greeting.

"Hello, darling! Did you run into much trouble with the accounts?"

"No," Draco replies honestly. "The task was tedious and hair-raising as ever, but it's all done now."

"Excellent, my dear. So," she continues with a wide smile, "does anyone else have any news to share?"

"Albus has a boyfriend, Mrs Malfoy," Lily supplies, almost sounding like this is her own, personal achievement and one she's extremely proud of, at that.

Harry unceremoniously drops his spoon. With a painfully loud 'clang', it hits the marble floor.

Scorpius bites back a chuckle, while the colour of Albus' face soon matches that of the tomato soup the elves are serving.

"It that so, Albus?" Narcissa asks pleasantly. "Who's the lucky chap?"

"I am, Grandmama," Scorpius replies matter-of-factly. Unlike Albus, he's neither embarrassed nor afraid. His grandmother has, after all, already let him get away with far worse things than having a boyfriend, and as long as he's got her on his side, his father won't dare intervene. _Perfect arrangement all around, really,_ Scorpius decides with a smug grin.

"I see." The woman looks over at Draco, who only shrugs dismissively in response.

"Well, then, as for my news," Narcissa goes on, to Harry and Albus' immense relief considering the topic of Albus' love-life closed. "I'm afraid I won't be able to make it to that play tonight, Draco."

"That's a pity, Mother," he replies between two spoonfuls of soup. "You were rather looking forward to it, weren't you?"

Yes, but I'm feeling quite tired, so I think I'd best give it a miss. You'll still go though, won't you, dear? They'd be terribly disappointed if neither of us were present."

"Of course," Draco says. "I don't mind going by myself. If the glowing reviews are any indication, I expect I'll be impressed."

"Why don't you accompany him, Mister Potter?" Narcissa suggests. "A night out might do you some good, help lift your spirits."

"He'd be asleep before the first act is through," Draco answers in Harry's stead, in an attempt to prevent the mood from becoming awkward again.

"No, he wouldn't," Lily speaks up in her father's defence. "Sorry, Mister Malfoy, but you're wrong. Dad went to see all kinds of plays with Mum. He really liked some of them, too."

Draco raises an eyebrow at Harry. "Is that so?"

Harry nods. "Yeah, but I'm certain, given the circumstances… I mean, the press… I'd rather not deal with reporters hassling me about Ginny or…"

"The news of your separation hasn't been leaked to the papers yet," Narcissa says soothingly. "Mister Heimdall made sure of that. Not to mention that Miss Skeeter is a close personal… acquaintance of mine. She wouldn't dare cross me again."

"Oh," Harry replies dumbly. He hasn't a clue what the woman's referring to, but it sounds ominous.

"Well, Mother," Draco says, careful to keep his expression completely blank. "If Po—if Harry wants to tag along, as far as I'm concerned, he's welcome to."

All eyes are on Harry, who swallows hard, forces a smile and replies, "All right. When should I be ready?"

"The performance starts at midnight," Draco tells him.

Harry nods. At least this gives him some time to make himself look more presentable; and he'll also make sure not to eat too much tonight, just in case his nerves decide to wreak havoc with his stomach again.

  
*****

  
"Yes," Scorpius says automatically when he hears the urgent knock at his bedroom door.

Clad in red pyjamas, Albus walks in. "Hello."

"You don't have to knock, you know, Potter," Scorpius remarks dryly. "Not now that everyone and their Kneazle knows we're boyfriends."

Albus stops where he stands and shuffles his feet, looking terribly embarrassed. "Yeah, er- sorry about that."

"Your sister's nuttier than what comes out of the rear end of a squirrel. Just thought I'd point that out."

"Yeah. She's a bit…" Albus looks down at his slippers. "I'm really sorry, Scorpy."

"Don't be." With a wide grin, Scorpius saunters over to the other boy and throws his arms around him. "The term's a bit sappy, but then so are you."

"Hey—" Albus starts to protest, but Scorpius cuts him off with a thorough kiss.

"Come on, Potter; let's try to get some sleep."

Relieved, Albus nods. He follows his friend to the large bed. They kiss again before Albus settles himself against Scorpius' chest and Scorpius wraps an arm around him.

"Did your gran actually send our dads on a date just now?" Albus asks, suppressing a yawn. "Or was that just the impression I got?"

"Yes, and no."

"Huh?"

"Yes, she sent them on a date, and no, it wasn't just an impression you got."

Albus frowns. "Do you reckon she knows?"

"Knows what? I'm not quite following you."

"Well, about my dad and your Father, that… thing they had back when they were younger."

"Ah. Yeah, she probably does." Scorpius yawns. "Grandmama always knows everything," he adds dismissively. "No idea how she does it."

"Oh."

"Get some sleep, Al."

"Yeah. Okay."

"Goodnight."

"I love you, Scorpy."

"Sappy git."

"Hey! That's not very nice, I thought you were…"

Scorpius lets out an exaggerated sigh. "If I tell you I love you back, will you finally keep your trap shut?" he asks, ruffling Albus' hair.

"You won't know until you try," comes the cheeky response.

"Fine. I love you, too. Are you happy now, you prat?"

Albus grins. "Yes," he whispers. He briefly leans up to kiss Scorpius' chin. Then he lies back down and closes his eyes.

Not before long, the two boys, cuddled up together, are sound asleep, while a few miles away, two men are making their way to the theatre, both of them anticipating their impromptu date with equal amounts of eagerness and dread.  



	17. Chapter 17

"Why do I have the distinct impression that we've been set up?" Harry remarks with a slight grin as he and Draco make their way to the old and stately building.

Draco smirks. "Why, Potter, are you actually suggesting that my mother would be so devious as to trick us into spending some time together? Surely, you jest!"

Harry chuckles, but his amusement quickly vanishes into thin air. "You don't think she knows, do you?" he asks, worried.

"Knows what exactly?"

Harry coughs nervously. "Er, you know, about what you and I had during the war?"

Draco considers this unexpected question for a moment and then replies, "I never told her about it, and she never alluded to anything, so I would assume not. She probably wants you to go out and spend some time in the real world again, rather than keep hiding from everyone as you've been doing of late: well, you and me both, really."

"Oh."

"Besides, she's got her hands full with spoiling those kids rotten." He stops dead in his tracks and instantly sounds a lot more serious when he continues, "Incidentally, you are aware that Scorpius and Albus have taken to sharing a bed, aren't you?"

"Yeah, I-I suspected as much. Do you reckon…" Harry runs a hand through his hair, deciding that this situation is highly irregular and extremely awkward overall. "I mean, is that the sort of thing we ought to allow? They're still so very young and…. Um, I don't think they should get too… intimate. Not yet."

Draco nods. "My sentiments exactly. I'm planning to have a word with Scorpius in the morning, set some ground rules."

"Yeah. I-I'll talk to Al about it as well."

"Good."

At that, a loaded silence sets in. The thought of their respective sons' relationship makes both men feel uneasy on many levels. _This is probably fate's way of laughing at me,_ Harry thinks bitterly, and he swiftly speaks up again before the odd mood takes on a morose flavour.

"Um, Mal—Draco, if anyone asks, what do I say if they want to know why we're here together? Do I call it a post-war effort or something along those lines?"

Draco glares. "Yes, I suppose it would be too demeaning for you to just call me your friend," he snaps snidely before he can stop himself. Without a backwards glance, he starts walking again.

Harry gulps. "That's not..." He rushes after Draco and grabs the man's arm with a rough urgency that surprises them both. "Wait! That's not what I meant. I just assumed…"

"What?" Draco's tone is sharp and affronted.

Harry's face floods with remorse. "Look," he says softly, his voice pleading, "telling them we're friends works just fine for me. I only wanted to get our story straight before we spoke to anyone."

Draco looks at him quizzically for a full ten seconds and then bursts out laughing at the unfortunate choice of words. "All right, Potter. Let's tell them we're friends, then, but I'd leave 'straight' well out of it if I were you."

Soon Harry is laughing too, and just like that, the tension is gone as quickly as it appeared.

"Come on," Draco says. "The performance is about to start. We wouldn't want to be late."

Harry nods.

Not another word is spoken as they climb the steep majestic steps that lead to the entrance.

  
******

  
"So, did you enjoy yourself?" Draco asks conversationally.

The play ended ten minutes ago and the two of them are heading towards the Malfoy carriage that brought them here and is now waiting to take them back to the Manor.

The weather is pleasantly warm and Draco finds himself thinking that he wouldn't mind going for a longer stroll, but he doubts whether Harry would be interested in that sort of thing. After all, nighttime strolls are for lovers, not tentative friends with a questionable history.

"Yeah." Harry's eyes are sparkling. "Maybe I should pick up the book sometime. I haven't had much occasion to read recently."

"Hm. If you don't mind me asking, Potter, on the work front…?"

Sensing where the question is headed, Harry says, "I requested an indefinite leave of absence for personal reasons. I mean, I'd arranged to take some time off anyway, so I could be with the kids over Easter Hols." He smiles wryly. "I guess all that overtime I put in these past couple of years must have worked in my favour. I was told I could take as much time as I might need, and they didn't ask any painful questions either; thank Merlin!"

Draco nods in understanding. He's pleasantly surprised at how open his companion is being. This is almost like old times. Except of course that it isn't, and it probably never will be again. They've become entirely different people since.

"Say," Draco changes the subject, "I realise it must be almost three in the morning, but how would you feel about stopping for coffee or tea?"

Harry blinks. "Right now?"

"Yes. Unless you'd prefer to retire for your meeting tomorrow?"

Harry shakes his head. "I wouldn't be able get a wink of sleep anyway, not even with the help of your mother's potions."

Draco nods again.

"So," Harry continues. "Tea sounds great, actually."

Draco smiles. "Follow me, Potter," he says and leads Harry to a cosy tearoom in a narrow alleyway, the kind anyone would easily miss if they didn't already know of its existence.

Despite the lateness of the hour, there are quite a few customers present and soft, jazzy music is playing in the background.

Draco saunters towards a table, Harry in his wake, and once they're seated, a waitress rushes forward.

"Hello, Mister Malfoy," she says with a wide smile. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

Draco nods. "Indeed, it has. These are busy times, Marietta."

"Yes, of course." She directs a dazzling smile at Harry as well. "So what can I get you, gentlemen?"

Draco doesn't need to look at the menu to decide. "I'd like a pot of strong Earl Grey tea, and a slice of warm apple pie with fresh cream, please."

"Excellent choice, Mister Malfoy," Marietta says pleasantly. She gives Harry a questioning look.

"I'll have the same, please, thanks, except…" He hesitates. He didn't eat much at dinner and it suddenly occurs to him that he's famished. "Could you make that two slices of pie for me?"

"Of course, Sir. Be back in a tic."

"Thanks."

Harry glances across the table at Draco, who's smiling at him warmly.

"What?"

"Nothing, Potter. I was just thinking that this outing has turned out to be rather pleasant. We didn't even have any reporters on our heels. I can only applaud Mister Heimdall for doing a most excellent job."

"Yeah."

Soon the orders arrive, and the two men are talking animatedly about the play and books and life in general, and they're having too much fun to stop and think that this is a rather strange and unexpected development. Good intentions aside, they never imagined that they'd actually manage to be on friendly terms again—not in a million years—and yet, here they are.

Two hours later, the establishment is almost empty. Nearly all the candles have burned down as dawn's early light pours through the windows.

"We should probably head home," Draco says. "The staff here will want to get some sleep, and you have that meeting with your Arguer in just a few hours."

Harry nods. They leave a generous tip and return to Malfoy Manor.

It must be around six in the morning when they enter the hallway.

Everyone is still asleep, aside from a few house-elves who are busy in the kitchens. The alluring aroma of freshly baked bread further adds to Harry's good mood. He never expected the Malfoy residence to feel quite as… _homey_ as it does.

Sometimes he almost gets a sense of belonging, even though he knows full well that this is an avenue of thought he shouldn't venture into, not unless he wants to get hurt again.

The men say their goodnights somewhere on the first floor, as they're about to part ways to head to their rooms on opposite ends of the corridor.

"I really enjoyed tonight," Harry says. "Thank you."

"You're very welcome," Draco replies, smiling. "Though you should probably be thanking my mother's sudden bout of fatigue instead, or her talent at scheming, depending on what you prefer to believe."

Harry chuckles, and then, quite unexpectedly, their gazes meet and looking at Draco, who's standing there happy and handsome and who's been such pleasant, entertaining company tonight, Harry suddenly feels like he's seventeen again. He supposes he's too old for crushes and too full of bitterness and harsh realism to still be able to feel like he has butterflies fluttering around in his stomach, and yet…

"Goodnight," he says softly, struggling not to lose himself in memories and nostalgia and daydreams about things that just aren't possible and a life that was never on the cards for him in the first place.

"Goodnight, Harry," Draco says. The man seems to hesitate, just for a second, and then he steps closer and kisses Harry on the cheek. "Sleep well."

"Er," Harry manages in his confusion. "Yeah, 'night."

With a small parting nod, Draco turns around and walks to his room.

Harry lifts a trembling hand and places it on his cheek, not comprehending what just happened. Was Draco flirting with him, trying to instigate something, or is this just his way of— well, _what_ exactly?

Harry hasn't a clue, and it takes him quite a while to finally regain the clarity of mind to return to his guest quarters.

  
******

  
"So are we clear on this, Scorpius?" Draco asks for the second time that morning.

He summoned his son to his study right after breakfast and so far, their chat has gone reasonably well. The boy didn't protest, not once, and all the answers he gave rang sincere enough.

Draco learned that all the two teens do is kiss, cuddle and hold hands, apparently, and in all honesty, he has no problem with any of that, just as long as it doesn't go any further.

"Yes, Father," Scorpius replies politely. "Perfectly clear."

"Good," Draco says. Considering their conversation as finished, he's ready to dismiss the boy. Scorpius, however, has other ideas.

"Father," he begins, not without a fair amount of hesitation, "how old were you when you first…?"

Draco raises an eyebrow. This question is more than a little startling and not the sort of thing he'd expect from his son. He supposes he should probably blame such a dire lack of discretion on Albus Potter's influence; having been raised by Gryffindors undoubtedly does strange things to anyone's sense of decorum.

Then again, given the topic of their previous conversation, there isn't really any need for secrecy, especially since the boy was very open and honest with him earlier on, too.

Draco finally replies, "I was seventeen."

"Oh." Scorpius gives his father a calculating look and then blurts out, "Was it with Mister Potter? It _was_, wasn't it?"

Draco's eyes widen in shock. "Why on earth would…?"

"Oh, come on, Father, please do tell me the truth," Scorpius says pointedly. "I know Malfoys excel at misleading and deceiving, but we shouldn't do it to each other, should we?"

Deciding there and then that his son is worse than he, himself, was at that age, but also unable to determine whether this conclusion fills him with annoyance or pride, Draco smirks. "All right, Scorpius. Yes, my first time was with Harry Potter."

The boy frowns. "Then why is everyone convinced you've always hated each other's guts? You couldn't have hated him that much if you slept with him. Right?"

Draco shrugs dismissively. "It's a long story, and most of it isn't terribly pleasant."

"Oh?" Scorpius shows no signs of wanting to drop the subject.

"You were correct in saying that we hated each other," Draco goes on to tentatively explain. "At least, we were bitter rivals for several years, but then the war broke out."

"Yes?" Scorpius is all ears.

"I suppose you could say that we both found comfort and solace with the least likely person."

"Oh." Scorpius thinks that over for a few long moments before he asks hesitantly, "Do you think that, um…"

"Yes?"

"Do you think you might become a couple again now that he's getting a divorce?" the boy blurts out.

Draco smiles wryly. "I highly doubt it."

"Why? Don't you like him anymore?"

Draco sighs. This conversation certainly isn't going at all as planned. "Look, son," he says, "whatever Pot-Harry and I shared once was a mistake, on many levels, and in the strict sense of the word, we were hardly a couple to begin with, either. Picking things up where we left off, for whatever reason, would be utterly foolish. We're better off as friends, if anything."

"I see," Scorpius says, but the truth of the matter is that he doesn't believe a syllable of it. His father and Harry Potter certainly don't act like people who are better off just being friends. They have too much… what's that tacky word Lily likes to throw around again? Yes, that's right: _chemistry_.

Suppressing a sigh, Scorpius wonders whom the man sitting in front of him is trying to fool here: his son or himself?

  
******

  
"How did it go?" Albus asks, wringing his hands nervously.

"Fine," Scorpius replies. He plops down next to Albus on the sofa and slings an arm around the boy.

"Oh."

Scorpius grins deviously. "It basically boiled down to how he doesn't want us to have sex yet and why."

Albus gasps. "He what?! Were you actually planning to…? With me? I mean I—I—I love you lots, Scorpy, b-but…"

"Al," Scorpius says soothingly, astonished at how badly Albus is taking this. "Please, calm down. No, I wasn't planning on… doing anything like that… Not any time soon. He was just worried that things between you and me might get out of hand. We do share the same bed, remember?"

"Yeah, but you're happy with just this, aren't you?" Albus asks urgently. "What we have now, I mean?"

"Yes. Of course I am."

"I mean, I—I-"

"Albus, shush already. Are you even listening? This is perfect."

Albus takes a deep breath. "Perfect?"

"Yes." Scorpius frowns. "Or… don't you agree?"

"No. I mean, yes, I agree. I think so, too," Albus says. Smiling, he snuggles a bit closer, takes Scorpius hand in his and links their fingers.

For a long while, not a word is spoken and the two of them just sit there, enjoying one another's closeness.

"You know, Al," Scorpius remarks suddenly. "I think my Father still likes your dad."

"Huh? Why do you say that?"

"Well, during that little question time he subjected me to just now…"

Albus flinches. "Yeah?"

"I asked him about his first time."

"You did what?" Albus lets go of Scorpius' hand and swiftly turns around to face the boy. "Wasn't that…? I mean, ugh, I can't imagine asking dad about… that sort of thing. Parents and sex, that's not a combination I even want to think about… Oh God!"

Scorpius grins deviously. "Scruples are terrible things, Potter."

"So, er," Albus asks after a few odd, silent minutes, "what did he say?"

Scorpius chuckles. "Well, I asked him how old he was the first time he… you know."

"Yes. And?"

"He told me he was seventeen," Scorpius replies simply.

"Oh." Albus frowns. "Um, that's all?"

"And there I was, thinking you didn't want to hear any sordid details, Potter."

"I don't," Albus says quickly. "But if he was seventeen, I just wonder…" He hopes he doesn't have to phrase the rest of it, but luckily, Scorpius immediately understands.

"If it was with your dad?" the boy finishes for him.

"Yeah."

"It was, Al."

"Oh." Albus sighs. "You know, Gran once told Aunt Hermione that you never forget your first love. That was when she and Uncle Ron were getting a divorce." Albus grins. "Mind you, it turned out Aunt Hermione had dated some Viktor bloke before she and Uncle Ron got together, so I don't think Gran's advice had the intended effect."

Scorpius smirks, smug in the knowledge that his Grandmama would never blunder like that.

"Do you reckon she's right, though?" Al goes on to ask.

"Right about what?"

"Never forgetting your first love?"

"I don't know," Scorpius replies, "but you'd better never forget me, you prat, or I'll be sure to remind you in the worst possible ways and haunt you for the rest of your life."

Albus only grins.

  
******

  
"Hello, Potter," Draco says pleasantly as they happen to cross paths in the hallway.

Harry has just returned from his appointment with Heimdall. He feels tired and slightly defeated. "Malfoy," he says with a small nod.

"How did it go?" Draco asks. The sad expression on the other man's face has him fearing the worst.

Harry shrugs. "All right, I suppose."

"If you'd like a listening ear," Draco says hesitantly and to his surprise, Harry nods gratefully.

"Right, then." Draco gestures towards the door on their right. It leads to a small sitting room. He walks inside and Harry follows without question.

Draco takes a seat in one of the large, comfortable armchairs while Harry sits down in the one across from him. "So," Draco asks. "What was the outcome?"

Harry takes a deep breath, and begins: "She wants joined custody, which seems fine by me. I don't think fighting over the kids would do anyone any good or actually improve matters, would it? She asked for an allowance as well, which is fair, too, I suppose."

"Fair?" Draco raises a sceptical eyebrow. "She's neither impaired in some way, nor is she a complete idiot. She could get a job, couldn't she? She hardly needs your financial support."

Harry sighs. "You have a point, of course, technically, but it would be very unfair if I didn't keep providing for her."

"Excuse me?"

Harry takes a deep breath. "You see, it was because of me that she gave up all her dreams and ambitions in the first place. She was aiming for a Quidditch career, had spoken to some scout from a special training camp even, and I'm sure she would have been brilliant, but…"

"Go on."

Harry swallows hard and starts to explain, attempting to cram the long and short of two decades of married life into a rambled summary that won't take him hours to tell.

Ginny never intended to become pregnant so young, and Harry knew, even then, that it was probably a huge mistake to commit to her only because of the baby that was on the way after a drunken night of passion. His proposal was an especially foolish one to make at a time when he was still trying to figure out so many things about himself.

Nevertheless, he did the noble thing and asked her to marry him.

Then, in the second week of their engagement, tragedy struck. Ginny had a devastating miscarriage. This was all the more reason for Harry to go through with the wedding, because, as he saw it, only a heartless bastard would have gone back on his promise and dumped her then.

Besides, even though he was no longer as head over heels for her as he'd once been, he did still love her very much, and he genuinely wanted to make her happy.

Ginny, meanwhile, had abandoned her career plans. She wanted to put all her energy into raising a family and making a home.

"And so," Harry says, his voice hoarse and flat, "the situation she's in now is partly my own doing. If I hadn't got her pregnant, who knows, maybe she'd be playing for the Harpies now."

"I see," Draco says. He wants to add more and to tell Harry to stop feeling guilty, especially when the Weaselette remains the one who was unfaithful.

Not to mention that Blaise Zabini is hardly destitute. Isn't his present stepfather, a Muggle no less, some wealthy oil tycoon, too? That man should definitely be good for some cash when he expires, and knowing Zabini's mother he's bound to do precisely that, sooner rather than later, and most likely in strange and suspicious circumstances.

"Anyway, aside from all that," Harry continues before Draco gets a chance to speak again, "I don't want to put anyone through some major battle in court, specially not the kids, and frankly, Draco, I'd rather close this painful chapter as soon as possible and move on with my life. I'm not getting any younger either, you know."

"Hm." Draco is neither impressed nor convinced; when did the great Harry Potter become such a quitter, exactly?

And then Harry drops the bomb. "I'm thinking of submitting a request to be transferred to Australia," he says. "There are still lots of Death Eaters on the run, even now, and a few have been sighted in Australia and Canada, or so rumour would have it."

Draco swallows the sudden lump in his throat. "Yes, I've heard those rumours, too," he says, and hopes that nothing about his voice or eyes betrays the stabbing feeling in his heart.

  
******

  
Ginny incessantly drums her long red fingernails on the kitchen table. Her beautiful face wears a deep, ugly frown. Why didn't her solicitor get in touch with her yet, she wonders with a sinking feeling in her stomach.

"Everything all right, darling?" Blaise asks as he walks into the room.

She lets out a deep sigh. "I hope so. You know, it feels so weird having to communicate through legal people all the time. I never know what to expect next."

Blaise pulls up a chair and sits down next to her. "I wouldn't worry," he supplies sincerely. "Potter's too noble for his own good. Heimdall or no Heimdall, the very minute he hears the words 'amicable separation' and 'less damaging for the children', he'll agree right away, no questions asked."

"I hope you're right," she says with a wan smile.

"Aren't I always?" He grins. "Not to mention, my love, that your Arguer has worked out a really excellent deal for you. And it's peanuts for Potter, when you consider exactly how much money that bastard's got."

"Yes. I know." She smiles. "Thanks for all your help, darling."

"Anything for you, Ginny." Smiling, he leans closer. He places one hand on her knee, tangles the other in her hair and kisses her thoroughly.

James, who is just about to walk into the kitchen, stops dead in his tracks and bites back a gasp. He truly didn't need to see that.

Gritting his teeth, he backs away slowly and quietly returns to his room.

Perhaps, he thinks, he should take Mister Malfoy up on his offer.

From the way his mother and her beau have been acting, he might as well be invisible. No matter how good his intentions, she clearly doesn't need him, not while she has Zabini to play newlyweds with.

  
******

  
Draco's head is reeling when he sprints up the flight of stairs and to his sleeping quarters, and all the while the word 'Australia' keeps running through his mind.

He excused himself to Harry, stating that he had an urgent Firecall to make, and now that's exactly what he's going to do.

Minerva McGonagall is highly surprised to receive this communication and she's simply aghast when she learns to whom Draco really wishes to talk.

"This is highly irregular, Mister Malfoy," she states in a stern tone. "Not in the least because of the terrible risk of discovery. Imagine what would happen if…."

"It's fine, Minerva," a deep voice booms from behind her. Snape steps forward. "Tell me what's wrong, Draco," the man says, "but kindly keep it brief and to the point. We wouldn't want this talk to be intercepted."

"He's off to Australia," Draco blurts out like that explains everything.

Snape frowns. "I beg your pardon?"

Draco tries again. "Harry Potter. He's going to work for the Australian branch of the Auror office, or he's planning to." Draco runs a trembling hand through his hair. He's panicked, desperate and nothing at all like his usual cool and composed self. "What the hell do I now, Severus?"

"Am I to presume you don't want him to leave?" Professor Snape asks with a slight sneer.

"Of course I don't bloody want him to leave!" Exasperated, Draco clenches his fingers into fists. Does he really have to spell it out, he wonders, and in McGonagall's presence, too?

"In that case," Snape continues matter-of-factly. "Do you really require me to point out the obvious?"

Draco frowns.

"Talk to him, Mister Malfoy."

"But what would I even say?" Draco protests meekly.

"After twenty-something years, you have yet to figure that out?"

Draco's eyes widen, but he remains silent.

Snape sighs. "Oh, very well, then. I expect the truth might be a good place to start. Tell him how you feel, Draco."

With a flick of Snape's wand, the wall of flames rises again, leaving Draco standing there all by himself, shaking.

He realises he will need to talk to Harry, impossible though that task may seem, but if it's a choice between having a difficult conversation with the man and losing him forever, even if it's just as a friend…

Draco sighs. He takes a deep, bracing breath, and heads back out into the corridor, in the direction of Harry's quarters.

Severus is right. A heart-to-heart is long overdue.


	18. Chapter 18

Draco takes a deep breath and slowly counts to ten before he finally gathers the courage to knock at the door; just once should do it.

"Yes?" a hoarse voice calls out.

His head held high, Draco steps into the room. He's determined to appear calm and collected, but he isn't fooling anyone.

"Oh? You're back, then?" Harry says. He, too, attempts to look casual and unfazed, with just as little success.

"Yes." Draco coughs nervously. "We should talk, Potter."

"What about?" Harry asks with equal amounts of curiosity and trepidation.

"Australia," Draco replies. Ever-increasing hesitation and anxiety course through him as he remains rooted on the spot.

"What about it?"

Draco chooses his words carefully: "Are you quite certain that moving to another continent would be such a good idea, all things considered?"

Harry frowns. "Why not? The kids will be at Hogwarts for most of the year, and I'm sure I could come back here for the holidays or invite them over. Australia's beautiful, from what I've seen. I'm convinced they'd enjoy it, too."

"Yes, but what about James? He finishes Hogwarts this June, doesn't he?"

"He'd be welcome as well. Besides, he's almost grown up now, so I really don't think he'd actually need me around all the time."

Draco holds back a sigh. This conversation has hardly begun and he's already running out of steam, practically clutching at straws while Harry is fast catching on that there's more to this.

"What's this really about, Draco?" he asks flatly. "Why shouldn't I start a new life overseas? I honestly don't have one single reason left to stick around here, unless…"

Draco's heart skips a beat. "What?" he asks, almost soundlessly.

Harry's breath hitches in his throat before he finds the words to add, "Unless you don't want me to go?"

Draco's heart is racing a mile per minute as he asks, "Why would I not want you to go?"

Harry flinches, embarrassed and ill at ease; Oh God, what was he even _thinking_? "I-I don't know," he says quickly. "I don't even know where that sprang from; I guess I'm more tired than I thought; I just…"

Harry hasn't a clue how to finish that sentence, or whether he should even continue talking at all. He doesn't want to make matters worse and seem a complete fool.

Through his fringe, he risks a glance at Draco, who's looking at him in an odd way, confusion and understanding warring in wide grey eyes.

Inadvertently, their gazes meet and what happens next is a bit of a blur.

Harry doesn't know who moves first, or how they even cross the distance between them, but in a matter of minutes, seconds, an undeterminable amount of time, Harry finds himself enveloped in strong, slender arms.

"Truthfully, I'd really hate it if you left," Draco whispers in a voice so soft that it leaves Harry wondering at first whether those words have even been spoken at all, but then Draco kisses him soundly and removes all doubt.

This is just like it was years ago, like it should have stayed, and when Harry wraps his arms around the first person he ever fell truly in love with, pulls him closer and kisses him back in earnest, he feels alive in a way he hasn't done in a very long time.

After what seems like an eternity and yet not nearly long enough, Draco steps back. "Enjoyable though that was, Harry," he supplies with an uncharacteristically shy smile, "you and I really need to talk."

"Talk." Harry takes a deep breath. "All right." He rakes a hand through his unruly hair and follows Draco to the comfortable armchairs in the left corner of the spacious room.

They sit down across from one another. Draco folds his hands in his lap to stop them from shaking.

"You said…" Harry clears his throat, which has gone irritatingly dry. "You er- said you'd hate it if I left."

"That's right."

"Why?"

Draco braces himself. He has never been any good at this sort of thing: laying himself bare emotionally, allowing others to see him as weak and vulnerable. But on the other hand, he realises full well that if he doesn't say something now, Harry will be gone forever, and any chance Draco may have at a future with him will also vanish.

Still, Draco wonders just what can he say. Where to even begin? Perhaps he should have been better prepared for this conversation, but there was scarcely any time, and….

"Look," he finally manages. "The fact of the matter is, Po—Harry that I wasn't entirely honest when I told you I wanted us to try to be friends."

Harry frowns in confusion. "Sorry?"

Draco gets up and nervously starts pacing the room. "I mean, obviously it would be a bad idea to pick things up again where we left them after the war. That would be rather—"

"B-But," Harry blurts, moving to stand as well, "you just kissed me!"

"Yes."

"Then what the bloody hell? What are you getting at? What are you _playing_ at even, Malfoy?"

Draco returns to his chair and slumps back down again. "I," he begins, but the rest of the words won't come.

"Draco," Harry says, a desperate edge to his voice. "You're not making the slightest sense here. So you don't want us to be friends or… lovers? Then what's left? Enemies all over again? But we just kissed. Good Lord, this is pathetic! Why did I even…?" He clenches his fists in exasperation. "Maybe I should pack my things and go home, back to my flat."

He starts walking in the direction of the en-suite bedroom, quite intent on following through with his plan.

In a matter of milliseconds, Draco leaps up, grabs Harry's arm and spins him around so that they're face-to-face once again.

"Now what?" Harry snaps, angry and tired.

"It's about time you stopped running, Harry," Draco says. "We should both stop running." He takes Harry's hand in his own. "Come on."

They both return to their chairs and before he takes a seat, Draco scoots his chair nearer to Harry's, so that when he sits down, they're close together, their knees mere inches apart.

"What I meant just now," Draco continues slowly, "is that I don't want us to be simply friends or friends with benefits, I…"

"Yes?" Harry's expression is unreadable, but his voice no longer holds that sharp edge.

"I want us to be more."

"More," Harry repeats dumbly before it dawns on him. He looks at Draco, his eyes wide open in more ways than one.

Mistaking the stunned silence for shocked rejection, Draco rambles on, "Yes, well, clearly I just made a massive error in judgment. Obviously you wouldn't be interested in pursuing a relationship with anyone at the moment; you're still in the process of getting divorced, probably in love with Ginevra still, and… " He gets ready to stand, but this time Harry's hand reaches out. He grabs Draco's sleeve and gasps out, his eyes full of wonder and something very much akin to hope, "A relationship?"

Draco nods slowly. "Not one of my better ideas, I gather?" he says, forcing a smile. He supposes he could handle the rejection. At least it would give him some closure of sorts and he'd never again have to ask himself 'what if?' It would be one single certainty floating in an ocean full of questions, and he could finally move on.

Harry swallows. "No. I mean, yes, but we still—"

Draco frowns, not a clue how to interpret any of that.

"You mean you'd actually consider giving this, giving us, a go?" Harry finally manages.

Draco nods again.

"B-But you were so angry after the war. You even sent all my letters back to sender, unopened. I-I thought…"

"Harry, I was furious with you. My father… I mean, it was either join my parents in France or stay here and keep seeing you, but the latter with the risk of being persecuted, perhaps even killed. I couldn't possibly…"

"I would have protected you," Harry says in earnest.

Draco huffs. "Right."

"Yes. I would have guarded you with my life, Draco, if necessary. It was just… your father. There wasn't anything I could have done for him. He was already in much too deep. Not that I didn't try to put in a good word for him, despite my own feelings about the man. I did. But he'd—"

"He'd done terrible things," Draco finishes. "Yes, Harry, I know. And I've come to realise these past few days that… Well, we were so young back then and the situation was so incredibly volatile…" He sighs deeply.

The room is silent for a few moments, uncomfortably so, before Draco speaks up again. "You would have really gone to all lengths to protect me?"

"Yes," Harry snaps. He sounds like he's torn between laughing and crying, but settles for angry indignation instead. "God. You meant the whole bloody world to me back then, Draco!"

Draco blinks. "What? I thought we were just…"

"No," Harry says with a wry smile. "That was you."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You were the one who was just… is 'messing about' what you were going to say?" Harry shakes his head. "Bloody hell, didn't you ever catch on back then, with that astronomical intellect of yours?"

Dumbfounded, Draco can only stare.

"I was in love with you, you great pillock!" Harry says, and immediately regrets it. He probably shouldn't have admitted that. It only leaves him vulnerable, an easy target for mockery and more hurt.

Then again, Draco did just suggest starting a relationship, and those never work if they're based on false assumptions or barefaced lies.

"You were in love with me," Draco repeats flatly, his pale face devoid of any kind of emotion.

"Yes," Harry says, fast losing his patience. "So there you have it. My dirty secret is out in the open after all those years. So are we done here now? Can I start packing my bags in peace?"

"No," Draco says sharply. "Not quite yet. Not before I tell you something ludicrous of my own."

Harry crosses his arms. "Go on."

Draco silently reminds himself to breathe: in and out and out and in. "The thing is," he continues, "I was in love with you too, Harry."

Harry gulps. "You… What?"

Draco smiles. He reaches out a trembling hand and runs it along Harry's cheek. "You know, Potter, we…"

Whatever he's about to say is cut off by a loud knock at the door.

Startled, the men break apart.

"Yes?" Harry yells, not bothering to mask his annoyance.

"Rinfy very, very sorry to interrupt," a house-elf rambles, shuffling into the room, "but a Mister James Potter is standing in the hallway. He wants to see you, Mister Harry Potter, Sir."

"James is here?" Harry replies, baffled. He gives Draco a small, apologetic smile, and then, with his heart in his throat, he follows the elf down the stairs.

And all the while, the only thought running through his head is:

_Bloody hell. All of these years... _

  
******

  
"Hello, dad."

Harry frowns at the sight of his oldest son, who's standing there with two large suitcases at his feet. Clearly this isn't just a brief stop.

"James," Harry says and goes on to blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. "Does your mother know you're here? She not sitting at home right now, worried sick about your whereabouts, is she?"

"She knows." James smiles wryly. "She wasn't pleased, but it didn't seem appropriate to force her to make a choice."

"What choice?"

"Either Zabini left or I did."

"Zabini?" Harry asks urgently. "That conceited git didn't hurt you, did he?"

"No, dad. Don't worry." James shrugs. "He and mum were just all over each other constantly. This morning, I caught him slobbering over her face in the kitchen. Er- sorry, dad. Bad visual."

Harry blinks, and waits for the familiar clenching feeling in his stomach, but it never comes. Surprisingly, the image of Ginny and another man snogging barely bothers him anymore, and he suspects this isn't just due to the fact that he was engaged in a similar activity with Draco earlier. Harry almost cracks a smile at the memory.

"Mister Draco Malfoy said I was welcome to come to the Manor and to stay here, should that need ever arise," James supplies.

Harry frowns. "You've spoken to him? When did that happen?"

"I sent him an Owl."

"An Owl. I see." Harry's frown deepens. He doesn't understand at all, but he is pleasantly surprised at the generosity and hospitality Draco decided to show his oldest son. He never expected Draco to care, not like this and certainly not about children that are also Ginny's.

A house-elf Harry hasn't seen before darts into the hallway. "Guest room prepared for Master James Potter," the creature says. "Please to be following Bernie?"

Harry smiles. "I'd best let you get settled in, James. We'll catch up later, won't we?"

"Yeah, sure."

James studies his father's face for a moment and then asks, as casually as he can, for he does have some trouble hiding how worried he actually is, "You're doing okay, aren't you, dad?"

"Yeah, son," Harry says without thinking, "Things are looking up."

Those words have hardly been spoken when it suddenly occurs to him that he's telling the truth. Since yesterday, life does seem better, somehow.

  
******

  
"So James has left as well," Molly remarks, all but slamming the plates down on the table. "He went to Malfoy Manor. Funny how, one by one, all my grandchildren seem to end up there. Isn't it, Ronald?" She throws her youngest son an accusing look.

"Why did he leave?" George asks, puzzled by all these strange turns life has taken lately.

"Ginny didn't say. I guess the poor lad wasn't comfortable living under the same roof as her new beau."

George flinches at his mother's sharp tone. "Ah."

"You didn't honestly believe you'd be able to keep that bit of information from me, did you, Ronald Bilius Weasley?"

"Er…"

"We're still here, gran," Hugo offers, attempting to save his poor dad from an inevitable grilling.

"Yes, dear," Molly says with a smile. "And thank you, Hermione, for joining us tonight. Holidays should be about family and spending time with the children, even when their parents no longer see eye to eye."

Hermione gives her former mother in law a small smile. "Not a problem, Molly. So why is everyone at Malfoy Manor? How did they end up there, of all places?"

"Albus, apparently, was worried sick about his dad. So he contacted the Malfoy boy—Scorpius, isn't it? Of course Narcissa had to go and poke her nose in and decided on the spot to fetch Albus and Harry." Molly directs another ominous glare at Ron as she adds, "And I take it that no one presently seated at this table needs to be reminded of how our Lily ended up in Wiltshire?"

"Scorpius Malfoy is a right prat," Hugo says, once again trying to create a diversion.

"Like father, like son," Ron interjects.

Hermione rolls her eyes, but remains silent. She still hopes, no matter how badly the odds are stacked against her, that some day Ron will get over this nonsense, or grow out of it, and that he'll stop poisoning their children's minds against anything Malfoy.

Truth be told, Hermione still isn't particularly fond of Draco, but Scorpius isn't too bad. His arrogance and ever-present tendency to bend rules and get up to mischief aside, he's a hardworking student, and unlike his father, he has never picked on any of the other children, not unless they provoked him first. Not to mention that he's a very loyal friend to Albus; those boys are practically inseparable.

Hermione silently watches the scene in front of her. Ron is as usual stuffing his face as though he expects that this is the last meal he'll ever get (Then again, who knows? Judging from the murderous expression on his mother's face, it just might be), George is looking slightly distracted, and all around her, people are once again engaged in small talk, sharing the usual anecdotes as though all is back to normal and well with the world, even though this couldn't be farther from the truth and they're all painfully aware of it.

Hermione wishes she were back at Hogwarts. Herbs and Potions make far more sense and at least bickering students can generally be silenced with the threat of detention.

Letting her mind drift away from the happenings at The Burrow, she briefly wonders how the snarky Potions Master is doing and how he's spending his Easter Hols this year.

  
*****

  
Draco gazes out of the window and lets out a deep sigh. Harry's words keep running through his mind.

_"You meant the whole bloody world to me." _

Draco can't help thinking, 'What if?' Had he known back then, had he said something and not been as stuck up and stubborn and stupid….

Of course, in that event, he wouldn't have had Scorpius, and he couldn't be more fond of his son.

Draco shakes his head. He really should stop dwelling on the past. Doing so serves no purpose whatsoever. It doesn't change anything. What's done is done and the time has come to turn over a new leaf.

A soft knock at his door snaps him out of his reverie.

"Yes?"

Harry walks in, hesitantly. "Um… Your mother would like to know whether you're coming down to dinner?"

"She sent you up to fetch me, did she?" Draco asks with a slight grin.

"No, not really. I just said I'd do it."

"Right." Draco doesn't move a muscle.

Harry shuffles his feet, unsure what to say next.

"So, will James be staying at the Manor for a while?"

"Yeah." Harry runs a hand through his hair. "He told me you invited him."

"Yes, I believe I did."

"Oh. I was really surprised since I er— I never would have expected him to Owl you."

"He's almost an adult, Potter, in case you've failed to notice," Draco replies, smiling. "He was worried about you, and about his brother and sister. I hope you realise what a great job you did raising those kids."

"Wow, and this is coming from the man who up until recently had Albus banned from his home," Harry points out with a grin.

"Well, up until recently, would you have been all right with Scorpius visiting your house?"

"Er- that might have been sort of awkward," Harry admits.

"Quite."

"You know, Draco," Harry goes on, "what we spoke about earlier…"

"Before we were so inconveniently interrupted, you mean?"

"Yeah. We should probably…" Harry takes a deep breath, feeling extremely nervous. And isn't it funny, he wonders wryly, how even after all those years, Draco's presence can still turn him into a stammering, incoherent moron?

"We could continue our earlier conversation after dinner," Draco interjects, "once the children have gone to bed and Mother has retired to the reading room. If you'd like?"

Harry nods. "Yeah."

Draco smiles. "That's settled then. I'll just go freshen up. Tell Mother I'll be down in five minutes."

"All right." Harry walks towards the door, but suddenly regaining his courage, he stops halfway and turns around again. With a small smile, he walks back to Draco, places his hands on his shoulders and kisses him.

Draco blinks, surprised, but not unpleasantly so.

"I didn't want to wait until after dinner before doing that again," Harry explains with a mischievous smile.

"Whoever gave you the impression we were going to do that again, Potter?" Draco says, grinning.

Harry shrugs. "No one. I just thought I'd give optimism a try."

"Ah."

Harry heads back to the dining room, grinning widely all the way.


	19. Chapter 19

When Draco walks in, Harry makes the conscious effort not to stare, no matter how incredibly tempted he might be to do so.

It's quite disconcerting, he decides, how Draco looks more handsome with each passing day. Or is that merely the impression Harry gets now that he finally permits his gaze to linger, finally allows himself to really look?

Whichever the case, Harry no longer has any qualms about admitting his feelings for the man, or about acknowledging them for what they truly are. After all, his faltering marriage to Ginny will soon be a thing of the past, leaving him free to love whomever he chooses, and whereas a relationship with Draco always seemed completely out of reach before—a dream he shouldn't covet lest the unrequited yearning break his heart—it's definitely on the cards now.

Nevertheless, at this very moment, staring is something he should avoid.

It wouldn't be appropriate in front of the children, and it probably wouldn't be wise either, to let Narcissa see something that might make her jump to conclusions.

That woman is already too shrewd for her own good, never mind anybody else's, and even though she means well, Harry would rather not provide her with more ammunition to meddle.

Before anyone else can utter a word, James rises from his seat. "Mister Malfoy," he says, extending his right hand to Draco. "Thank you for inviting me to your home."

"James Potter, I gather?" Draco smiles and shakes the proffered hand. "Hello. Have you settled in well?"

"Yes. Thank you, Sir."

"Good. And do your designated guest quarters meet with your approval?"

"Oh, definitely," James replies with a grin. How could they not? They're twice the size of his bedroom at home, and at least three times as luxurious. He can certainly understand now why his brother and sister enjoy being at the Manor so much, and truth be told, the Malfoys themselves don't seem so bad either, not at all as haughty or cold as he was made to believe.

Narcissa was kind and welcoming towards him earlier, and she didn't ask any of those awkward questions he'd been expecting.

"I'm pleased to hear that," Draco says with a curt nod and takes a seat.

Once again, Harry has to tear his gaze away. This dinner is going to last forever, he thinks sadly, or at the very least, it will feel like an eternity. Suddenly he cannot comprehend how he ever managed without Draco for all these years.

Harry takes another sip from his wine. He tries to keep his mind blank and silently admonishes himself, over and over, to look anywhere but at the man sitting at the other side of the table.

It's bizarre, Harry ponders: on the one hand, everything has changed, while on the other, absolutely nothing has.

Something tells him, though, that come tomorrow, his life will ever be quite the same again.

*****

Hermione lets out a soft sigh, relieved that the much-dreaded visit with her former in-laws is almost over and done with.

Predictably, Molly offered her a guest room for the night, but Hermione politely declined.

The atmosphere at dinner had turned awfully strained after a while, with snide remarks and passive aggressive accusations flying back and forth, and she wasn't keen on having to sit through something similar at breakfast, too.

Before Hermione takes her leave, however, there's still something she needs to do.

She excuses herself from the living room and makes her way to the kitchen, where she saw George heading towards a few moments previous.

She urgently needs to talk to him, even though she's not quite sure how to broach the potentially volatile subject she needs to discuss.

"George?" she begins hesitantly when she spots him standing by the window, his arms crossed and his eyes focused on something outside, possibly a scavenging fox or a curious badger.

He turns to face her and asks, "What is it, Granger? Is everything all right?"

She gives him a small smile. His concern for her is typical. He always puts other people's wellbeing first and insists on showing a brave face even when his whole world has fallen apart.

He tries his best, of course. He does everything he can to keep his chin up and to get on with his life, but the painful truth of the matter is that he still isn't over Fred's death. Of course he isn't, Hermione reasons; how could he be?

"I don't quite know how to say this, George," she begins softly.

He grins. "No, let me guess." He pauses dramatically before he ventures, "You're not dating Malfoy by any chance, are you?"

"What?" She blinks. "Merlin, no!"

"Good." His grin widens. "You had me worried there for a sec."

She takes a deep breath. "It's actually a rather more… serious matter."

"Oh?" He studies her with a worried frown. "You're not ill, are you? Or is there a problem with one of the children?"

"No," she quickly reassures him. "No, we're all fine." She swallows hard and then takes a few steps closer, until she's standing right in front of him.

"The thing is, George," she continues in a slightly shaky voice and places a hand on his arm. "I-I've seen Fred."

"I beg your pardon?" He takes a swift step backwards, shrugging her hand off in the process. "Is this some kind of joke?" he demands in an unusually stern voice. "If so, pretty bad taste, if you ask me."

"No," she replies and shakes her head for emphasis. "No, George. I promise you, it isn't."

"Then what the bloody hell are you on about?"

"I—" She inhales sharply. "I bumped into him at Hogwarts; well, in a manner of speaking. You see—"

"Yes?"

"He… He's a ghost," Hermione says at last.

"A ghost," George parrots and swallows hard. "A ghost at Hogwarts."

"Yes." Hermione moves closer to him again. "Maybe you should sit down," she says softly and takes out her wand.

Wordlessly, George sinks down onto the summoned chair.

He's lost deep in thought, trying to make some sense of what he has just been told. His brother isn't quite alive, technically, but still out there somewhere and able to talk, laugh and feel.

George's eyes fill with tears. His hands tremble and his head is reeling.

"Do you suppose we could…?" he says after a few tense minutes, in a voice that only vaguely resembles his own. "I mean, would they let me see him, d'you reckon?"

Frowning, Hermione considers that for a moment. "I could ask the Headmistress," she finally replies. "I expect she wouldn't mind, but are you sure? I mean, it could get pretty intense, couldn't it? And I remember reading somewhere that Hogwarts ghosts do have to stay on Hogwarts Grounds at all times, lest they disperse and disappear forever."

He gives her a wry smile. "Read that in 'Hogwarts, A History', did you, Granger?"

"Yes, I believe so," she says, not quite picking up on the jest.

"Either way, though," George says without hesitation, "even if I can only see him over there; hell, even if I can only see him again once, I'd gladly give everything I own. I need to see him with my own two eyes, Hermione. I need to know that he's happy, or all right, or…" He trails off, unable to think of anything else to say.

Hermione nods. This is pretty much the outcome she expected. "All right, George. As soon as I get back home, I'll Firecall Professor McGonagall first thing."

  
*****

Dressed in green pyjamas and with his teeth freshly brushed, Scorpius strolls out of his en suite bathroom.

"Your hair's getting long," Albus observes from his spot on the sofa. He, too, is ready to retire. "It practically reaches your shoulders now."

"Yes," Scorpius says with a frown and goes on to ask, sounding uncharacteristically insecure all of a sudden, "Don't you like it like this?"

Albus grins. "I never said that. I love playing with your hair, Scorpy."

"Scorpius," the other boy reminds him.

Albus sticks out his tongue. He prefers 'Scorpy', and that's that.

"Mature, Potter. Really," Scorpius says with a playful roll of his eyes and plops down next to his boyfriend.

"Feeling tired?" Albus asks, scooting closer.

"Not terribly," Scorpius replies, taking Albus' hand. "We should make sure we're asleep before midnight, though."

"Yeah, I know," Albus says, but makes no move to head to the bed.

"So, has your dad spoken to you yet?"

"Huh?" Albus frowns in confusion. "About what?"

"You know"—Scorpius waggles his eyebrows meaningfully—"about us, and what we might get up to when we're alone, especially when we're alone here at night, in my room."

Blushing slightly, Albus shakes his head. "No. He's been busy all day, first with Mister Heimdall, and then James showed up… That was pretty weird, wasn't it?"

"Indeed, and no doubt my father kept your dad quite occupied as well," Scorpius supplies dryly.

Albus blinks. "W-What's that supposed to mean?"

"Ah, you're so adorably naïve and oblivious, Potter," Scorpius declares with a smug smirk that indicates quite blatantly that he knows something the other boy doesn't.

"Oblivious?" Albus' frown deepens. "To what?"

"I take it you didn't notice, then, how your dad was practically drooling when Father walked in at dinner?"

"What? I'll have you know, Malfoy, that my dad never drools," Albus declares with righteous indignation. "Besides, your father was sneaking glances at him all through the meal. And that's not all…" He gives Scorpius a challenging look. "Lily asked me if I knew what that wink was all about."

"What wink? Please! You're not trying to tell me that Father actually winked at your dad, are you?"

"Yeah," Albus replies with a triumphant grin. "So who's the naïve, oblivious one now, huh? Prat. My little sister can outsmart ten of you, and she doesn't even know what's been going on!"

Scorpius doesn't bother to dignify that with a proper response. Instead, he tackles the grinning boy sitting next to him and attacks him with tickles, until they're both laughing and feeling considerably less uncomfortable about their respective fathers' antics.

"So," Albus asks after a few moments, when his laughter has subsided and Scorpius no longer looks likely to attack him. "Do you suppose they'll be getting together for real now?"

Scorpius takes Albus' hand again and links their fingers. "Honestly, I'd say there's a realistic chance."

"Oh?"

"Why do you ask?" Scorpius ventures carefully. "Would it bother you if they did?"

"Albus frowns. "We'd see more of each other, wouldn't we, you and me? So that'd be good. Though to be honest, I'd rather not think of my dad and your father making eyes at each other; it's a bit… er… yeah."

"Point taken." Scorpius smiles. "Still, if they get too nauseating, I expect we'll be able to escape somewhere."

Holding hands and with Scorpius' chin resting on Albus' shoulder, the boys sit in silence for a while.

Albus closes his eyes and thinks that this is perfect. Maybe, strictly speaking, he's too young to love someone this much, but nothing else matters except Scorpius and how nice it feels to be together, until out of the blue, something quite frightening occurs to him.

"If our dads— er, you know, get bonded or something," he blurts out, "that won't make us brothers, will it?"

Scorpius chuckles. "Don't be daft, Potter. We're not blood relatives, are we? "

"Er, no. Right."

"Silly sod." He kisses Albus' cheek, and adds, "Come on, let's get some sleep. Grandmama will know if we stay up too late."

"How?"

"I already told you. Why must I always repeat myself, Potter? Two of the most essential ground rules if you're ever to fit in with this family: Grandmama knows best and Grandmama knows everything."

"All right," Albus says. He thinks that Scorpius can be a bit of a conceited git sometimes. 'Well, most of the time, but no one's perfect and well, he's my conceited git,' Albus decides, 'so that makes it okay.'

A little later when they're snuggled up together in Scorpius' large, comfortable bed, Albus can't but ponder on the newest developments.

Truthfully, he doesn't know how he feels about them. Part of him would like to see his parents back together and under the same roof, simply because that type of arrangement is nicer, more practical and he does miss his mum sometimes, even though that's not something he can just come out with and tell his dad or probably even Scorpius.

Still, whatever the outcome of the present situation might be, at the end of the day, Albus just wishes for his dad to be happy, proud and brave again.

He wants his dad to look like he can conquer the world, and if that can only be achieved if Scorpius' father is involved, Albus doesn't object, really. Mister Malfoy's not that bad and maybe he can actually make Albus' dad happy. Albus' mum clearly can't, and no longer even wants to.

_Dad deserves to be happy again._

With that thought, Albus drifts off to sleep and not long thereafter, Scorpius' soft snores fill the room as well.

  
*****

  
"Don't just stand there wearing holes in the parquet, Potter," Draco says with a small smile. "Take a seat'

"Er- right," Harry mutters awkwardly and goes to sit down on the large sofa.

"Brandy?" Draco offers.

"All right," Harry says. He briefly wonders why Draco drinks a Muggle beverage, but then wizarding customs have changed in the past fifteen years, and he guesses that Draco's charity work causes him to associate with Muggles quite frequently, too.

Funny to think of Draco doing charity work, but then maybe not... How well do they truly know each other, especially after so many years?

Harry takes a deep breath. He realises that his hands are shaking. He hasn't felt this nervous in a long while. He knows that tonight could change everything. He hopes it will, for the better.

He accepts the drink and downs it in one swift gulp. It burns more than he expected.

"So," Draco begins, taking a seat next to Harry. "About these plans of yours, anything new?"

Harry takes a deep breath. "I suppose the transfer to Australia has been… shelved."

"Oh, good," Draco says dryly, but looks somewhat smug all the same.

"But I'm still unsure whether…" He runs a hand through his hair. "This is all such a huge, nasty mess, Draco. The Weasleys, for one thing; they're the closest I have to a family, or they were, but now… I dread coming face to face with them again. Molly and Arthur are going to be so disappointed in me. I remember when Hermione and Ron split up…. Molly… God, she was completely livid!"

Draco nods in understanding, but doesn't utter a word.

"And then there's the press, too. Not that I mind what the papers say, not anymore; it's just the attention itself I hate. I haven't missed that for one single moment these past couple of years, and I really don't want it back."

Draco looks thoughtful. "Perhaps some kind of … sabbatical wouldn't be a bad idea?" he suggests. "Can't you take an extended leave of absence, six months, a whole year? You can certainly afford to financially, can't you?"

Harry frowns. "Yeah; money's not a problem."

"And as for the press: whatever happens here at the Manor, they wouldn't dare write about; which reminds me…"

"Yeah?"

Draco's smile turns slightly uncertain. "Assuming things work out between you and me," he says carefully, "before your divorce has been settled and all the legal paperwork finalised, we can't tell anyone about… _this_, in case Zabini were to catch wind of it. He might be tempted to convince Ginevra to change her mind about the amicable part of the separation and persuade her to try to squeeze you for every Galleon you've got."

Harry sighs. Much as it pains him to admit it, he does understand Draco's point. "You're probably right," he says with a solemn sigh. "You know, I never thought Ginny would be the type to… I mean, she practically ignored James once Zabini was there; she acted as though he wasn't even in the house. Did you know that? Did James tell you in his Owl?"

"No," Draco replies, "but if it's any consolation, Po-Harry, whatever apparent personality change she underwent is most likely Zabini's doing." Draco's smile is almost apologetic. "Blaise may be one of my oldest friends (or he used to be, at any rate), but that doesn't blind me to the venomous, vindictive piece of work he can be when he puts his mind to it."

"Right."

Draco reaches across and takes Harry's hand in his own. It's still shaking and feels colder than it should.

"What else is troubling you?" Draco finally asks, when he can stand no more of the thick silence that's been hanging over them for five long, painful minutes.

"Nothing," Harry mumbles, but he has never been a terribly convincing liar.

"Is this uncomfortable or too soon?" Draco goes on to ask, his tone purposely neutral. "Have you changed your mind? Is there something you want to know? Is there anything _I_ need to know?"

"No," Harry says quickly, sensing the desperation behind Draco's words. "I'm just… overwhelmed, I suppose. These past few weeks have been… _God!_"

It's not far from the truth, and Harry can't but feel utterly weak and ridiculous. He came here hoping to discuss a future with Draco, to seduce him even, and instead he unravelled right in front of the man's eyes. _Brilliant._

"You know," Draco says softly, shifting a little closer and pulling Harry into a tender embrace, "my marriage was arranged. Or rather, I entered into a business arrangement with the intention of giving my family an heir. My former wife and I, we get along just fine, but we were never… we never loved each other, and when we agreed on a divorce, it was merely for practical reasons. There was no need for her to accompany me back to Britain, and Scorpius had been mine to raise from the very start."

Harry gulps at the unexpected revelation.

"Anyway," Draco continues, "my point is that I won't pretend to understand how unhinged you presently feel or how deeply this betrayal must hurt, but…"

"What?" Harry asks hoarsely.

"I've been told that these things do heal with time, Harry. Everything does."

The sound of his first name, uttered like that, makes Harry shiver. He moves back slightly and studies Draco's face, just for a moment. "Can I kiss you?" he blurts out before he even realises.

Draco nods. "If you're absolutely sure you want to do that now…"

"Yes," Harry says, "I am."

What follows is the first kiss of many until, by some unspoken agreement, Draco Apparates Harry and himself up to his room and locks the door with the strongest spell he can think of.

*****

  
"Merlin, Potter, you're eager," Draco says, breathless, as he finds himself shoved against the door.

"Stop - calling - me - Potter," Harry pants out.

"All right… _Harry_," Draco says huskily, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses down the man's neck, "but I'm sure you see my point. You're acting like you haven't been touched in ages."

"I-I haven't," Harry stammers awkwardly.

Draco stops just long enough to ask, "What? You're joking, aren't you?"

Harry slowly shakes his head.

"How long?" Draco has to know.

"About… a year and two months. Ginny wasn't exactly…"

"Shush." Draco cuts him off with a thorough kiss. "I don't need to hear any of the sordid details. We'll just have to make sure you get thoroughly shagged now, won't we?"

Wasting no time, he reaches down to carefully undo Harry's belt and zipper.

Harry emits a soft moan when Draco's right hand closes around his cock. Those long, slim fingers still feel wonderful and are clearly just as skilled as they were all those years ago, except this time around, Draco isn't the least bit hesitant or shy. He sinks down to the floor, kneels in front of Harry, and soon Harry's dick is engulfed by the moist warmth of Draco's mouth

"I thought you were going to… shag me," Harry gasps out. Not that he's complaining, not at all; he's merely... surprised.

"Oh, I still intend to," Draco says, looking up to meet Harry's gaze. "Later. I expect you'll be able to manage twice in one night." With a wicked chuckle, he adds, "We're not _that_ old yet."

Smiling, Harry throws his head back, closes his eyes and concentrates fully on the incredible sensations coursing through him.

He tangles his fingers in Draco's hair and tries desperately not to pull at the blond strands or to thrust up into the man's mouth, but retaining some self-control is proving to be increasingly difficult.

It has been so long. He can barely remember his last blowjob, even though he's quite certain that it was nowhere near as brilliant as this.

"Oh God… _Draco_."

Draco grabs hold of Harry's hips to keep them in place, and he begins to hum as well as lick and suck with fervour.

Already Harry can feel the delicious familiar heat building inside of him. He won't be able to last for much longer.

"Draco, if you don't slow down," he warns in a ragged voice, "I'm going to…"

Harry opens his eyes once more and casts his gaze downwards. The look on Draco's face tells him that it's all right, that he needn't hold back.

Draco picks up the pace even further and Harry sees stars. With a loud cry, he comes, spilling himself in Draco's mouth.

Draco swallows it all, just like he used to, and then he looks up at Harry and smiles.

"I-I need to sit down," Harry whispers. His legs are too shaky to remain standing. He sinks down to the floor and soon finds himself enveloped in slender arms. "Tha-that was bloody fantastic," he adds.

"Of course it was." Draco grins smugly. "Did you honestly expect anything different?"

Harry chuckles. Feeling happy and slightly flustered, he shakes his head. "It's your turn," he whispers.

With trembling hands, he unbuttons Draco's trousers and frees the straining erection.

He looks back up at Draco's face, then, and when he sees the tender smile that's directed at him, Harry yearns to say something, a confession of sorts, but decides against it.

This isn't the time to mention love, he thinks. His mind tells him that it's too early for such sentiments, even though his heart doesn't exactly agree. He adores this man, and why is it exactly, he wonders, that it took him over two decades to see what had been right in front of him all long?

Harry takes Draco's cock in his hand and gently strokes it with his thumb, before he leans down and slowly runs his tongue up and down the shaft.

"That's it, Harry, take your time, so I won't— Mmmm… I want this to last."

Harry goes as slow as he can, taking Draco's dick into his mouth and licking and sucking it lightly, until the whispered instructions turn into urgent pleas.

"Faster… a little more pressure… yes, just like that, oh— yes, _fuck_, Harry!"

Harry swallows what he can and then discreetly wipes his mouth. Well, at least he tries to be discreet about it...

Watching through lidded eyes, Draco can't hold back a smirk at the clumsiness.

"Sorry." Harry looks sheepish. "I'm a little bit out of practice."

Draco laughs, then, feeling incredibly happy and relaxed, and Harry joins in. He hasn't felt this exhilarated in a long time, and it isn't simply because he just had an incredible orgasm.

"Bed, Harry," Draco says, and casts a quick cleaning charm on them both. "And lose the clothes, all of them. And the glasses, too, while you're at it."

A few moments later, Harry climbs into the large bed and moves into Draco's arms. Again, he realises that he has missed this. Not just the sex, but also, and perhaps even more so, how it feels afterwards, being so warm and cosy, lying there snuggled up against that soft, velvety skin.

Sighing happily, Harry closes his eyes. "You won't hate me if I accidentally nod off, will you?" he asks softly.

"No," Draco says, stifling a yawn himself, "but don't be surprised if you find yourself shagged first thing tomorrow morning."

"Is that a threat or a promise, Malfoy?"

"I should think both."

"Good."

In no time at all, Harry is sound asleep, and Draco tightens his hold on him. _I'm not letting you go again, Harry,_ he silently vows to himself, _not for anything in this world_'


	20. Chapter 20

Harry wakes up and smiles, realising where he is and with whom. He quietly summons his glasses, glad that he can do such small acts of magic without the use of a wand these days, and glances around the room.

Dim dawn light seeps through the curtains. It must be quite early still. Seven o'clock? Eight, perhaps?

Next to him, Draco is still deep in slumber.

Harry reaches out a hand and gently runs it along the man's cheek. For a moment, he feels as though his heart might burst. This is almost too good to be true. He hasn't felt this happy or so completely at peace with himself in years.

As though he senses someone watching him, Draco's eyes flutter open. "Good morning," he says with a small smile and in a voice that's still slightly hoarse from sleep. "What time is it?"

"It can't be any later than eight, I think," Harry whispers in response.

"Hm. Breakfast won't be served for quite a while, then."

"Probably not." Harry grins. Slowly, he trails his right hand down Draco's bare chest. He's relieved to discover that any remaining scars from the _Sectumsempra_ curse, a mistake that to this day continues to fill him with shame and regret, have healed completely. The soft, pale skin is flawless.

"Do you like what you see, Potter?" Draco asks with a playful grin.

"Mmmm," Harry murmurs. He moves his hand lower, until his fingers are playing with blond curls. "So, do you plan to make good on last night's promise?" he asks coyly, lightly stroking Draco's morning erection.

"I always keep my promises," comes the husky and altogether too smug response. "It's a matter of Malfoy honour, you know."

"Is that so?"

Harry smiles deviously. He rains kisses down Draco's neck and collarbone, and continues to stroke the man's cock. There's an urgency to his actions that indicates that he doesn't want to take this slow, even though there's still plenty of time before either of them will be missed.

"What do you want?" Draco asks softly, for the moment still capable of coherent speech.

"You," Harry whispers, and bites back a moan when Draco's fingers rub his right nipple.

"Me?"

"Yeah." His right hand stills and he buries his head in the crook of Draco's neck. He doesn't understand why he feels so... _bashful_ all of a sudden, except that he does.

He supposes he's out of practice when it comes to dealing with this, too. For such a long time, sex felt like a chore to him. Perhaps he needs to get accustomed to enjoying it again, which is an odd concept when he stops to consider it, but so much was wrong between Ginny and himself, on that level too, although that's hardly the sort of thing he ought to be thinking about now.

This is a fresh start, a whole new beginning.

"So…" Draco clears his throat. He can clearly sense Harry's discomfort, though he hasn't a clue where it might stem from. "How are we going to go about this?" he asks bluntly. "Do you shag me or do I shag you?"

Harry blinks, stunned at the directness of the question and the matter-of-fact way in which it was uttered. "Er— you do me, I guess?" he blurts out and then cringes at the double entendre that really wasn't meant to be there.

Draco smiles. "All right." He kisses Harry on the cheeks, nose and finally on the lips. "Hang on a sec."

He reaches out his arm and takes something out of the bedside table's top drawer. "We'll need this, I think." He screws the lid off a jar that clearly hasn't been opened before, and at Harry's questioning look, he explains, "Once upon a long ago, I bought this under the naïve assumption that some day in the not too distant future I'd have a sex life again, preferably with someone of my preferred gender. That was ten years ago. So, to make a long story short, Harry, we're probably lucky this hasn't gone solid in the meantime."

Harry grins. "So you haven't been in any relationships since…?"

"My divorce?"

"Yeah."

"No, Harry. No relationships. And no one-night stands either, in case you were wondering. That would have been too risky, even if I had been interested. Besides," he adds with a wry smile, "every man I met I ended up comparing to you. Needless to say that there was never any actual contest."

"I'm glad," Harry thinks out loud.

"You're glad that I haven't had sex in over a decade?" Draco smirks "Charming. Thanks a lot, Potter. I appreciate the sentiment. I truly do."

"No." Harry grins. "That's not what I meant. I'm just glad I mean that much to you, or er- did or"—he's blushing furiously now, and unable to stop himself—"something."

At those words, Draco's face flushes as well. "I suggest you turn over," he says, "before we kill the mood and both go impotent from excessive sappiness."

Harry chuckles softly and then kisses Draco again, full on the lips, before he rolls over onto his stomach.

With slicked fingers, Draco carefully prepares Harry, until the man's moans of pleasure reveal that it might be time to take things further.

"Ready?" Draco asks, just in case.

"Yeah."

"How do you want me, Harry?"

"Er- can I look at you while we…?"

"I'd like that a lot, actually."

"All right." Harry rolls over, so that he's lying on his back again.

Draco smiles admiringly when he drinks in the sight before him: Harry Potter lying there, baring himself to him in more ways than one and looking more gorgeous than Draco has ever seen him, all wild hair and wide eyes and a smile that makes his stomach flutter.

"Ready?"

"Yes," Harry says, anxious, excited and just a little bit scared.

Draco bends down to kiss Harry's forehead, then positions himself at Harry's entrance and carefully pushes himself inside.

Harry grits his teeth. He remembers this burning sensation from their first and only time before. He also remembers that it gets better eventually.

Draco supports himself with one arm and reaches his other down between their bodies so that he can pump Harry's dick in time with his thrusts. Then he begins to move, slowly at first.

"I'm not hurting you, am I?" he asks gently, his voice laced with concern.

"No, it's fine." Harry's breath hitches in his throat. "More than fine. Could you… try going a little deeper?"

"Like this?" Draco asks in a ragged whisper. He's taking it slow for now, and trying his utmost to hang on to what little remains of his self control. He doesn't want to come before Harry does, and he definitely doesn't want to hurt him.

"God, yes, exactly like that..."

Harry lifts his hips, and moves back and forth, urging Draco to go deeper and trying to make this as intense as he possibly can. It still burns a little, but mostly, it feels amazing and increasingly so.

He wraps his legs around Draco's waist, earning himself something that sounds like a cross between a moan and a growl from the man atop him.

"Where did you learn to do this?" Draco asks, breathless.

"I'm just improvising," Harry whispers.

Draco grins. "Well, don't hold back on my account." With that, he increases the pace of his movements, and soon the only sounds heard in the room are pleasurable moans, ragged breathing, flesh slapping against flesh, and the bedsprings that are creaking just a little too loudly.

"Draco." Harry moans. "_Draco..._"

He throws his head back and squints his eyes shut as his climax rips through him.

The sensation of Harry clenching around him is Draco's undoing. His orgasm is silent, but no less intense for it. He's shuddering from head to toe as he spills his release.

A long moment later, he moves out of Harry gently, lies down next to him and throws an arm around his waist.

"All right?" he asks softly, once his breathing has slowed down again.

"Perfect," comes the whispered response.

"Good." Draco lifts his head and grins at the man lying next to him.

Harry's sated expression matches Draco's own. "I do need a shower, though," he says with a happy smile.

"Me too. We can have one together if you'd like?"

"We've never done that before, have we?"

"No. We never had the opportunity. If I remember correctly"—Draco leans over and kisses Harry's cheek—"there weren't any showers in any of those tents, and that one night… yes, well…."

"Yeah." Harry swallows hard. He'd rather not think about that night, or rather, about what happened afterwards, how things with Draco, as they were back then, came to an abrupt and painful end.

"I suggest that when we're done, you sneak back to your room before anyone notices you missing, though," Draco adds. "You didn't bring your Invisibility Cloak along by any chance, did you?"

Harry shakes his head, amused. "I wish. It's still back at The Burrow, I think. God, I haven't thought about that cloak in ages."

Draco chuckles. "Come on. Time to get up and get a move on."

"Yeah." Harry starts to rise but then reaches out a hand and places it on his companion's arm. "Draco?"

Draco turns to face him. "Yes?"

"I—" Harry's well aware that he should say the words soon; it's a confession that's long overdue, but he can't. Not quite yet.

"You won't leave me again, will you?" he asks instead, vulnerability painfully apparent in his tone.

Smiling, Draco shakes his head. "You're stuck with me this time, I'm afraid."

"Good."

With a wide grin on his face, Harry follows Draco the bathroom.

  
*****

  
Staring out of the window overlooking the neat and nicely kept garden, Ginny sighs.

"Is something troubling you, love?" Blaise asks. He moves closer until he's standing right behind her, and wraps his arms around her slim waist.

"James is gone," she says softly. "I can't believe he just… left, just like that. Where did I go wrong, Blaise?" She shakes her head and blinks back the tears that are threatening to fall.

She can't appear weak, she _won't_, not this time, not again, and certainly not where he is present to see it.

She realises she'll have to get her act together pretty soon. If she keeps up this solemn demeanour and carries on acting like a wet blanket, he might just end up leaving her.

She knows how popular he is, after all. He can probably seduce any woman he lays his eyes on, and considering the kind of company he could be keeping instead, why would he stick with a divorcee who's seen the best side of thirty and does nothing but whine, nag and complain all the time?

"You didn't do anything wrong, love," he assures her. "You've sacrificed so much for your children, including what I'm confident would have been a brilliant career. You gave it all up for them and for a man who doesn't love you anymore."

Ginny lets out another sighs and mutters, mostly to herself, "Maybe he never even did to begin with."

"How do you mean?" Blaise asks, genuinely puzzled.

"Well, you know I fell pregnant when Harry and I first got back together, don't you?"

Blaise nods. "Yes, you told me. And that you"—he tightens his hold on her—"lost the baby."

"Well, maybe he just felt like he had to do the honourable thing by me, but it wasn't what he really wanted. I mean, even when we made love, I…" She swallows hard, unsure whether or not to continue. After a long moment, she does. "Maybe I shouldn't be telling you this, Blaise, but even in the very beginning, it often seemed like he wasn't even there, that he was only doing it because he was expected to…or to appease me, to keep me happy and quiet or something. I often wondered if his heart was really in it."

"Good Lord." Blaise shakes his head. "No wonder you were so down on yourself when we met. I hope you are aware, Gin, that you deserve far better than Potter's crap, and I promise you here and now that you'll have it, too."

She smiles, feeling slightly reassured.

"You miss your kids, don't you?" he then goes on to ask. He knows it's a redundant question, but she clearly needs to talk, so they might as well get it all out in the open now.

"Yes," she says. "Especially Lily. I know it's wrong to play favourites, and I don't, really, but I always wanted a little girl, and she's such a treasure. I know you haven't really got to know her yet, but she's…" Ginny bites back a sob. This is proving to be harder than she thought. "I was really looking forward to spending Easter with her. We used to have these egg hunts, which is a Muggle tradition, I know, but it was Harry's idea initially, and she enjoyed it so much, and…"

Blaise remains silent for a moment. "Maybe I should make a little trip to Wiltshire," he suggests. "Draco Malfoy was a good friend once; perhaps I can sort something out."

Ginny frowns. "Didn't the two of you have a nasty falling out recently?"

"That, we did," Blaise says, smirking, "but we also go a long way back, you know. He's practically family, or he was at one point at least. I'm sure I could persuade him. Besides,"—he sneers at the thought—"it's not like he has a lot of friends to begin with. He may be on this lovely charity crusade, trying to right the wrongs from his past, or so the story goes, milking this humanitarian thing for all it's worth, but I don't think he's naïve enough to believe that the people he's throwing all that dough at actually like him personally any more than they did ten years ago. At the end of the day, it's only about the money."

"Isn't everything?" Ginny offers dryly.

Blaise shakes his head and in one swift move, he spins her around until they're standing face to face. "I wouldn't go that far. Some things in life should also be about fun. Or love, even."

She smiles, but then asks, guiltily, "We're not doing anything wrong, are we? This isn't some mistake that'll only hurt lots of people in the end?"

"Definitely not." Blaise is quick to reassure her. "We love each other. What could possibly be wrong with that? Besides, we only have one life, and it's far too short as it is, so why waste any valuable time remaining unfulfilled?"

Ginny lets out another deep sigh. "I just want this whole nasty business to be over and done with," she says, "so that we can all move on."

"Me too, darling," he says and kisses her forehead. "Me too."

*****

Pacing the headmistress' office, Severus Snape is not at all amused. This in itself may not be unusual, though in this particular case, even by his own standards, he's exceptionally displeased, verging on livid.

"Minerva," he says in a sharp, accusing tone as he fixes the woman in front of him with a piercing glare, "I cannot believe you not only agreed to give that interfering, infuriating, little—"

McGonagall raises a curious eyebrow.

"—Granger," he continues, making the name sound like a nasty, contagious disease, "an audience, but also decided to grant her that ludicrous and potentially dangerous request."

"Hermione is only trying to help," Minerva points out reasonably. "Surely you can imagine how hard it must be for poor George, no longer having his brother around? The boy hasn't had an easy time of it, or so I've been told. He's completely lost still, even after all these years."

Severus shakes his head. "Be that as it may," he insists, "but meeting his brother again will only make it worse."

Minerva frowns. "How is that possible? They're twins, Severus. I expect they still have some unfinished business, things they need to discuss…"

"Yes, precisely my point. They're twins, thus share one of the strongest bonds imaginable between two people. Do you even dare to stop and contemplate what the devastating consequences might be if they are separated again after their beyond-the-grave reunion? Did you actually take into account the kind of fierce accidental magic ghosts are capable of, not to mention… Merlin's beard, Minerva, this is a disaster waiting to unfold before our very eyes!"

She considers his objections for a few moments. "Perhaps," she finally says, rising from her chair, "George could stay on." She walks over to the window where Severus is now standing and adds, "We could use an additional Quidditch instructor. Marcus could certainly do with an extra pair of hands."

"I'm sure there are quite a few things Mister Flint could do with," Snape supplies dryly.

McGonagall makes a point of ignoring that. "I'll discuss the matter with him tomorrow."

Severus smirks, but doesn't utter another word. Although, in truth, he doesn't approve in the slightest; The Weasley Twins together at Hogwarts on a more permanent basis? May Merlin help them all!

Severus resolves to have a serious talk with Hermione Granger upon her return. Surely she should be willing to listen to reason, even if Minerva McGonagall is not.

  
*****

  
"That's my theory, Potter," Scorpius declares, crossing his arms defiantly, "and I'm sticking to it."

Albus shakes his head. "So you really think that last night my dad and your father got up to something we're not going to mention, and all that just based on how they both looked... sort of happy this morning? You're full of crap, Malfoy, and… and... kind of soft in the head, too, possibly."

"Am I, now?" Scorpius says, one eyebrow arched in challenge.

"Yeah, I'll bet nothing … _yucky_… happened," Albus insists. "They probably just had a few drinks and a chat, and enjoyed each other's company and…" Growing increasingly uncomfortable with the subject, he lowers his voice. "Yeah, okay, maybe they gave one another a goodnight kiss or something."

"Ah, so your dad always beams after he's has a chat and a few drinks, does he? And a goodnight kiss. Really, now! What are you? A girl? They're not thirteen like us, you know."

"Either way, he still wasn't beaming!" Albus rolls his eyes. "Merlin, you're completely off your trolley."

Scorpius shakes his head. Then he steps forward quickly, grabs the other boy by the arms and pushes him against the nearest wall before launching into an assault of tickles, a sure-fire tactic that always makes Albus shut up; well, temporarily at least.

Not before long, in between chuckles, Albus squirms out of Scorpius' grip and breaks into a run.

"Potter," Scorpius points out in a loud but amused tone. "I hope you realise it's no use trying to hide from me. I grew up here, you prat. I know this house too well!"

"Yeah," Albus yells over his shoulder. "That may be so, but that still doesn't guarantee that you can catch me!" Grinning widely, he picks up his pace. They'd never let him race through the corridors at Hogwarts, he thinks, and this isn't anything his gran or mum would ever allow either, which, of course, only makes it all the more fun.

Sniggering, he turns a corner, but is halted in his tracks as he bumps into something solid. No, he realises to his astonished horror, it's actually someone...

With an audible gulp, as a grim sense of foreboding overpowers him, Albus staggers two steps backwards before he finally gathers the courage to look up.

The tall, silver-haired man standing in front of him is eerily familiar, and even more intimidating than on any photographs or portraits Albus has ever seen of him.

"Er, I— Good afternoon, Sir," Albus begins awkwardly, but he's soon cut off by a cheerful voice coming from behind him.

"Grandpapa, what a wonderful surprise to see you! I didn't know you'd be back today!"

Surveying the curious scene in front of him, Lucius Malfoy smirks.

  



	21. Chapter 21

Hesitantly, Harry enters Draco's office. The 'come in' he heard a few minutes previous sounded welcoming enough, but still… He doesn't want to impose. He's well aware that the man has a lot of commitments and that a heavy workload goes hand in hand with every single one of them.

As expected, Draco is sitting at the large mahogany desk with an impressive stack of papers in front of him. He looks up and smiles warmly.

"I'm not bothering you, am I?" Harry asks.

"On the contrary. You're just in time to rescue me, as it happens."

"Rescue you?" Harry frowns. "From what?"

"The tedium of paperwork," Draco replies with a grin.

Harry grins back. "That bad, is it?"

"It's probably worse," Draco says, holding out his hand.

Harry walks towards the desk, takes the outstretched hand in his and moves to stand behind Draco's chair. "What were you doing exactly?" he asks, genuinely interested.

Draco shrugs. "Checking invoices, writing letters of recommendation, the usual. What have you been up to so far today?"

"Me?"

"Yes. Don't tell me you spend all your time here slouching about, or worse, that you're bored with the place already, Potter?"

Harry shakes his head. The truth is that he's been catching up on some sleep, but to say he's been lazy would be a severe exaggeration. He's just trying to get as much rest as he can, to make up for all those nights he lay awake worrying, grieving and generally hating himself.

"To be honest," he finally replies with slight apprehension, "I'm feeling a little lost today."

"How so, lost?"

Harry leans down to kiss Draco's cheek and continues, "Well, Albus and Scorpius are doing Merlin-knows-what and certainly don't require my presence, your mother has taken Lily shopping…"

"Not again? Good Lord!"

Harry chuckles. "At this rate, she'll end up even more spoiled than you were…"

"Hey!" Draco protests with mock indignation. "I resent that!"

Harry smiles. "And James," he goes on, "is busy studying. He's due to finish Hogwarts in June, so..."

"Yes, I know."

"He intends to do well. He's got great plans. He's far more ambitious, academically, than I ever was…" Harry's words trail off as his gaze drifts towards the window and the drive below. "Er, Draco," he says. "Are you having visitors over today?"

"Visitors? No, not as far as I'm aware. Why do you ask?"

"There's a large black carriage down there. I don't think I've ever seen it before. "

Draco's eyes widen. "A large black carriage?"

"Yeah. It's got some kind of snake emblem on the side, or at least that's what it seems like from here; looks kind of tacky, if you ask me."

Draco smirks. "Careful, you'd better not let him hear you say that."

Harry frowns. "Who?"

"Father."

"L-Lucius?" Harry stammers, releasing Draco's hand and taking a few steps backwards on suddenly unsteady legs.

Draco turns to face him. "Yes, that's the one," he replies dryly. "Unless you know something about Mother that I don't."

In a matter of seconds, Harry becomes unusually pale. Narcissa, he can handle. She's always kind and helpful, albeit a little overbearing sometimes. Lucius, however... Harry wasn't expecting to run into him here. He swallows hard. _Sweet Merlin, this cannot possibly end well. _

"Relax, Harry," Draco says softly. Sensing the man's anxiety, he rises from his chair and goes to stand in front of him. "Father has probably only come over for Easter Hols, to spend a little quality time with his grandson. Besides…" Draco grins. "He's the Minister. It's not like he can go around killing war heroes on a whim. That would be a terribly unwise move, politically speaking."

"Only if he gets caught," Harry points out grimly.

Draco chuckles. He kisses Harry on the lips. "You worry too much, Potter. Come on."

"C-Come—_What_?" Harry's eyes grow as wide as saucers.

"Let's go downstairs and say hello. You are, after all, a guest in his home. Ignoring him would be quite rude."

Harry gulps audibly and grumbles under his breath, "Oh bugger!"

*****

"So you're Albus Severus Potter," Lucius says, laying just a little too much emphasis on the boy's second name.

"Yes, Sir," Albus affirms, putting up as brave a front as he can. "I am."

"So my son has changed his mind about letting you visit, I take it?"

"I'm afraid the situation is a bit more complicated than that, Grandpapa," Scorpius cuts in.

Lucius raises a quizzical eyebrow. "It is?"

Scorpius nods. "Albus' parents have broken up. His mum was seeing Blaise Zabini in secret, and his dad accidentally found out."

"Zabini." Lucius sneers. "I see."

"At the start of Easter Hols," Scorpius continues, "Albus Owled me from his dad's flat. I got very worried about what his letter said, so Grandma and I went over there to have a look. The place was a wretched mess: rubbish strewn about everywhere, no decent food in the fridge... So Grandmama decided we should bring Albus back here, and Albus' dad, too."

Lucius blinks. "Harry Potter is here at the Manor?" he says and can't but wonder why he is only hearing about this now.

"Yes, Grandpapa," Scorpius continues, unfazed. "And then, a few days later, Ronald Weasley dropped off Lily; that's Albus' little sister. She was missing her dad and wasn't at all happy to be stuck with Zabini. Well, who would be? You've always said yourself that he was a really rotten leech, didn't you, Grandpapa?"

Lucius neither confirms nor denies that statement. Instead, he remarks, his tone flat, "So a Weasley dropped off another Potter. I see."

Scorpius nods. "Yes, and then a few days later, James showed up, too."

Lucius is growing increasingly reluctant to continue this conversation, yet he feels that he must. "And James would be…?"

"My older brother, Sir," Albus supplies politely.

Lucius takes a deep breath. Technically, he supposes he ought to have remembered the names of Harry Potter's children, and how many of the brats there are… 'Not more than three, I hope,' he thinks warily. After all, one never knows when there's a Weasley involved; their women can probably get pregnant just by accidentally wandering within a five-mile radius of anything fertile.

"Right," Lucius says, having regained his voice and his composure. "So four Potters are presently staying here. Is there anything else I should know?"

"Albus is my boyfriend now, Grandpapa," Scorpius declares proudly.

"I see," Lucius replies once again, desperately clinging to what little remains of his inner calm. When he opens his mouth to say something else—the weather, he assumes, should be a less upsetting topic to discuss—Draco and Harry arrive.

"Hello, Father," Draco says with a nonchalant flair that suggests that nothing unusual has been taking place here and that, indeed, the Potters have lived at the Manor their whole lives.

"Draco," Lucius replies curtly, "and Harry Potter. How… unexpected."

"Mister Malfoy," Harry says awkwardly, and he shakes the gloved hand that's offered.

"Draco, where is your mother?" Lucius then asks in a stern tone.

"She's taken Lily shopping," Draco replies pleasantly. "She wanted to buy the girl a pretty pink dress for Easter."

"I see" is all Lucius says and Albus thinks that the man seems to be saying that an awful lot and it can't possibly mean anything good, and why on earth did Scorpy have to go and bring up the 'boyfriend' thing anyway? Couldn't that have waited until dinner, maybe, or until they've finished school, a good four years from now?

"Tinky!" Lucius yells at the top of his voice.

Almost instantly, an Elf appears.

"Why, pray tell, is my luggage not yet in my room?"

"Sorry, Master Malfoy," the rattled creature says with a humble bow. "Will do now, Sir. Right away."

"Thank you." He turns to face Harry, Draco, Albus and Scorpius again and adds, "I'll go freshen up. I expect I'll see you all at dinner."

With that, he quickly heads up the stairs, his mind reeling as he tries to decide whom to blame for this travesty and most importantly, how to punish them for it.

"That went well," Draco says cheerfully as soon as his father is out of earshot, and then, to Harry's astonished horror, declares, "Scorpius, Albus, if you two would care to follow Harry and myself into the library, there's something we would like to tell you."

*****

"Right, then." Draco takes a seat next to Harry and across from Albus and Scorpius, who are wearing a puzzled expression. "For starters, I have to ask both of you boys not to share what I'm about to tell you with anyone else yet, particularly not with your little sister, Albus. She's a lovely girl, but she also seems to be something of a chatterbox and clearly has trouble keeping secrets."

Harry frowns. He isn't terribly impressed at hearing his daughter spoken about in such a fashion, but he remains silent and waits to see exactly where Draco is going with this, although he already has his suspicions.

"First, however," Draco continues, "wasn't there something you needed to discuss with your son as well, Harry? Something about his and Scorpius' changed relationship?"

"Yeah. Er… Um, yeah; right," Harry mumbles, not a clue how to tackle this.

"We're not doing anything untoward, Mister Potter," Scorpius interjects quickly. "I swear we aren't."

"T-That's, um, good," Harry replies in an awkward stammer. His own purple blush almost matches that of his son. "Yes, that's very good to hear, Scorpius."

Draco shakes his head. Communication, he decides, is definitely something Harry needs to work on, as does that socially inept son of his.

"Scorpy—er, Scorpius is right, dad," Albus adds.

"Good," Harry says once more. "I suppose that's settled then. Right, Draco?"

Draco smirks. "I guess it is. Well then, boys," he continues with a smile, "since you two are being so honest with us, I believe you have the right to know that…"

Scorpius' eyes widen in realisation. He's undecided how he feels about this development in itself, but he can't help but do an inner dance of triumph at finding out that he was right. He _was_, wasn't he?

"Harry and I are together now," Draco says in a soft, neutral tone.

"T-Together?" Albus blurts out. "You mean as in…?"

"Gah! What do you suppose he means, you oblivious git?" Scorpius snaps. "Honestly! How thick are you?"

"Scorpius," Draco admonishes the boy, "behave yourself. There's no need for name-calling."

Albus ignores the outburst as well as the subsequent reprimand and gives his father a questioning look. "D-Dad?"

"Are you all right with this, Albus?" Harry asks carefully.

Albus frowns. 'Am I?' he wonders. The whole thing _is_ a bit strange and he's still not entirely used to the idea of his dad liking someone who's not Mum, and who's a bloke at that, but on the other hand…

"I-I guess it's kind of weird, dad," Albus at last replies. "I mean, not bad weird; just… I'm not… _not_ all right with it, though. It'll just… take some getting used to, seeing you and Mister Malfoy… like that."

"Yeah," Harry says with a relieved smile. "I expect it will."

"How about you, Scorpius?" Draco then asks.

The blond teen blinks. He didn't expect such directness; this generally isn't like his father at all. Not that Scorpius doesn't appreciate it; on the contrary. "I'm in favour of whatever makes you happy, Father," he says, and as he speaks those words he realises he also means them. He may be only thirteen, but it hasn't escaped his attention how lonely his father has been in recent years: locking himself in his study, burying himself in work and only meeting people if some business venture or charity was involved. It didn't take a genius to see how sad and lonely the man was.

Now, however… Scorpius has never before seen his father smile so much; he even caught him humming the other day; Harry Potter's company is obviously good for him.

"I'm pleased to hear that," Draco says with a small smile. He's at least as relieved as Harry was only a moment ago, but not as straightforward in expressing his feelings. He doesn't pull Scorpius into a hug, either, much though he would like to. It's just not how he was raised, and in a sense, he can feel Lucius' presence looming over him, making him feel more reserved, in spite of the news he just shared.

"Right, then." Draco speaks again. "I suppose that will be all. And remember, boys, please do keep this to yourselves. Harry and I will tell the others, too, but when the time is right and not a second sooner."

"Understood, Father," Scorpius says. "You can count on us."

"Definitely," Al chimes in, and soon the boys leave the library again, hand in hand, and both deep in thought about what they just learned.

The door shut, Draco turns to Harry and grins. "That's one thing settled."

"Um, yeah, but—"

"But what, Potter?" Draco asks, placing a hand on Harry's right knee. "Don't you feel they had the right to know? Besides, they would have discovered it by themselves eventually, and knowing Scorpius, it'd have been sooner rather than later. "

"Your son's a terror," Harry points out.

Draco chuckles. "Whereas Albus, on the other hand, is a perfect little angel?" He leans over for a kiss. "I predict that those two are going to make our life together quite interesting. Don't you think?"

Harry grins. "Probably."

"So," Draco says, his eyes now twinkling with mischief, "before my father showed up, I believe you were telling me you were feeling rather lost today…"

"Yeah."

"So, how would you feel about escaping to my room for a while? I doubt we'd be missed…"

Harry's cheeks flush at the suggestion, but still he asks coyly, "Are you propositioning me, Malfoy?"

"I might be," comes the smug response.

Harry takes Draco's hand, but quickly releases it again when without warning, he door flies wide open and an anxious House-elf bolts into the room.

"Sorry to be interrupting, Sirs."

"Yes, Rinfy?" Draco says, raising an eyebrow.

The creature nervously wrings its gangly hands. "Mister Zabini standing in hallway; wants to talk; will not leave before has spoken with Mister Harry Potter. Rinfy very sorry about hassle, Sirs."

Harry flinches.

"Thanks," Draco says. "Tell Zabini I'll be right there."

"B-But wants to see Mister Harry…"

"That's too damn bad, then," Draco snaps. "He'll have to settle for me. Go on."

"Yes, Sir, of course, Sir." With a courteous bow and a soft pop, the Elf is gone again.

"Wha-What the fuck does Zabini want from me?" Harry yells. From the sheer force of his anger, a nearby bookcase starts to shake threateningly.

"I haven't a clue," Draco replies honestly, "but whatever it is, don't worry, I'll get rid of him and make sure he doesn't get it in his head to return any time soon." He rises from his chair and confidently strides towards the door.

"But…" Harry begins.

Draco turns around again. "Yes? What?"

"You won't— I mean, I really don't want to see him or talk to him or…."

"As I said," Draco reiterates before heading out of the room, "I'll deal with the wanker. Just stay put. And for everyone's sake, do try to calm down as well, Potter."

Harry nods, but he's not at all inspired to relax. With each passing second, his anger increases further and all around him, the windows start to rattle menacingly in their frames.

*****

"Much though I empathise with your predicament, Blaise," Draco says calmly, "I'm afraid I cannot grant you your request."

For the past thirty-or-so minutes, Zabini has been highly insistent about wanting to have a word with Harry Potter personally. He needs to discuss urgent matters with him, and him alone.

"Come on, Malfoy, be a sport," Blaise tries once again. "Surely, you can understand my position in all of this? Ginny's depressed because she misses her kids, especially little Lily. This situation isn't easy on her, you know."

"No, I can imagine it must have been a real hardship," Draco retorts dryly, "cheating on Potter with you."

Blaise frowns. "You're divorced as well. Sometimes things just don't work out. Don't tell me that you're actually taking Potter's side, that you're blaming Ginny or me?"

"I'm in no position to take sides or to blame anyone," Draco says flatly. "I wasn't one of the affected parties. However, I do feel that perhaps… Ginevra would have been wiser to terminate her marriage with Potter before throwing herself into this liaison with you. A little more forethought would probably have saved everyone a lot of heartache and strife."

Blaise's fierce temper finally gets the better of him. "Oh, for fuck's sake, get off your high horse, Malfoy!" he snarls. "Life is so easy for you, isn't it? You're safely sitting up here in Mummy and Daddy's ivory tower, hiding away behind your do-gooder smokescreen to conceal how wretched and lonely you really are."

Draco glares.

"Not to mention that from what I've heard, your own marriage was a mere business deal, a fucking sham to provide your family with an heir! You've probably never even been in love, have you? So what would you know about relationships, about passion, about any of this?"

"My love life is none of your concern, Zabini," Draco hisses between gritted teeth.

"No," he says with a condescending sneer. "You're right; it's not, nor do I particularly care to learn about the high-class whores you probably cavort with whenever you get the urge to shag something. The reason I came here is to talk to Harry Potter, and I'm not leaving until I've spoken to the speccy git." He crosses his arms in challenge. "That is, of course, unless you're planning on throwing me out."

"Don't tempt me, Zabini," Draco threatens.

"You're still the same arrogant bastard, aren't you, Malfoy?"

"No more than you're still the same slimy, two-faced cretin, I'm sure."

Blaise shakes his head, and then it dawns on him. "I'm missing something here, aren't I?"

"Such as?"

"I don't know, but I intend to find out, and I'm not leaving here until I've spoken to Harry Potter, or is our little overrated hero too much of a big girl's blouse to show his face, perhaps?"

"Spoken to me about what, Zabini?" a third voice resounds through the room, as Harry saunters in.

Draco swallows hard. Harry must have been listening at the other side of the door for a while. Not a good thing, whichever way one looks at it.

"Ah, finally," Blaise declares with a smug smirk. "Potter, I wanted to have a word with you regarding your daughter."

"What about Lily?" Harry crosses his arms. Every single one of his features reveals how livid he is: from the dark, dangerous glint in his eyes to the deep frown in his forehead and the uncontrollable twitching of his left thumb.

"Ginny misses her terribly and was wondering whether she could come back home."

Harry laughs without humour. "And why on earth would I allow something like that?"

"Because, at the end of the day, Ginny is still the girl's mother."

Harry shakes his head slowly. "Yes. Her mother who decided that spending time with her lover was more important than paying attention to her son; her mother who made her feel uncomfortable to the point where she asked her uncle Ronald to bring her here, so she could stay with people she'd never met. You get a bronze star for effort, Zabini, but not a chance in hell are you taking my daughter. Lily came here of her own accord, and she'll be staying here until she asks to leave or until the Wizengamot decides she must."

Blaise sneers. "You do realise, I hope, that I could make things very difficult for you in court, very… painful?"

"I'd strongly advise against threatening me, Zabini," Harry shoots back, and those words have barely been uttered or a large vase falls from a nearby sideboard, shattering into a thousand tiny pieces as it hits the floor.

Draco cringes. One priceless heirloom down, possibly many more to follow if Harry keeps this up, and 'Reparo' won't work on something that delicate. Mother won't be over the moon, that much is certain.

"I'm not the least bit afraid of you, Potter," Blaise declares unwisely.

"That's quite enough," Draco interjects in a desperate attempt at damage control. "You should leave, Blaise. Now."

"So you _are_ throwing me out?" comes the incredulous retort. "Because of him, your school rival, Saint Potter, who at the end of the day turns out to be some pathetic loser who couldn't keep his wife satisfied—in or out of the bedroom?"

"I said, 'enough,' Zabini!" Draco yells. "You came here to speak to Ha—to Potter. You did, so now you can be on your merry way again."

"And with any luck," Harry adds, clenching his fists, "we won't have to see each other again for quite a while and both our lives will be all the richer for it."

A crystal chandelier starts to swing back and forth, its metal chains creaking and its lights flickering on and off.

At the left side of the room, a chair falls over, landing on the marble floor with a loud thud. All around, curtain rings rattle, increasing their pace and volume as the tension continues to mount.

"_Out_, Zabini!" Draco says urgently. "Don't make me repeat it again!"

Blaise shakes his head. "Just you wait," he hisses. "You'll live to regret this, both of you!"

He throws them another venomous glare, turns on his heel and strides out of the Manor.

In the sitting room, Draco shakes his head. The Pandemonium around him shows no signs of quieting down.

"Brilliant, Potter," he snaps, for the moment not caring about the possible consequences, be they magical or otherwise. "What did I tell you? To stay put and calm down, wasn't it? Good Lord, after a performance like that… Don't you even realise what's at stake here? Zabini might claim you're unstable, and if they believe him, you might lose it all, including visiting rights to your children, never mind custody."

"I'm not unstable," Harry snaps.

"Perhaps not, but you are a hazard to yourself if you behave like this," Draco says reasonably, in a neutral tone. "Not to mention that your magic is completely out of control. Just look around, would you?"

Harry doesn't. Instead he yells, "Well, I'd rather be a hazard to myself than a coward who refuses to pick a side until he's sure who's winning!"

Draco blinks. "Right," he mutters. "Right!" Without another word, he, too, exits the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

As if pulled out of some trance, Harry gulps. Instantly, the room goes quiet again and everything comes to a halt. He clamps a hand over his mouth and his eyes fill with tears.

Then, almost as quickly, he's spurred into action again. "Draco!" he yells and sprints out into the hallway. "Draco! Wait!"

Behind the purple drapery at the back of the sitting room, Albus takes Scorpius' hand and whispers, "Dad shouldn't have said all that."

"No," Scorpius agrees in an equally hushed tone. "My father is not a coward, and my family never supported Vol—Vol-de-mort; not really. Grandpapa wouldn't have become who he is now, if he'd actually…"

"Of course not," Albus says soothingly, even though the truth of the matter is that he's heard very different things about the Malfoys and their past. "Dad's just... horribly upset."

"I think the word you're looking for is _volatile_," Scorpius says bitterly, "and he'd better fix this. Father was actually… He looked so happy earlier, like he didn't have a care in the world." The boy bites back a sob. "What a bloody mess!"

"Don't worry, Scorpy. Dad'll fix it. He has to."

Scorpius finally lets the tears fall and for once, he doesn't bother objecting to that daft nickname Albus insists on calling him.


	22. Chapter 22

With his heart hammering against his ribcage and a stomach that feels like it's filled with lead, Harry sprints up the stairs.

He can't believe he could have been so stupid. Why on earth did he have to go and do that? Why did he have to say such a hurtful thing and lash out at Draco, who'd tried so hard to protect him? That had been Draco's sole intention, hadn't it, his only reason for wanting to keep him away from Zabini?

_Merlin,_ Harry thinks, _I definitely am the worst kind of idiot._

He knocks at the door of Draco's study and doesn't bother to wait for a response before he barges right in. "Look, Mal—" he begins, but falls silent again when he discovers that the room is empty.

_Shit. _

That leaves... the bedroom, doesn't it?

Harry swallows thickly and hopes from the bottom of his heart that Draco hasn't left, Apparated to elsewhere. It's no secret that the Malfoys have various properties scattered throughout the Continent, so it's quite probable that Draco has decided to put as much distance between Harry and himself as humanly possible.

Harry wouldn't blame him one bit. He's well aware that he screwed up royally this time. Why can't he ever just leave well enough alone? Why does he insist on dredging up the past and on rubbing salt into any wound he sees? Never mind Voldemort, he's become his own worst enemy now.

Harry shakes his head, and soon he's moving again, bolting up the stairs and hurrying down another corridor until he reaches Draco's bedroom.

He takes a deep breath. His tentative knock at the solid oak door earns him a weary, "Yes?"

Shuffling his feet, Harry enters the room.

He finds Draco sitting on the bed; the bed they made love in this morning, Harry flinches.

Draco's eyes are sad. He looks overwrought and defeated. _I really did a stellar job here_, Harry thinks, feeling thoroughly disgusted with himself.

"Now what, Potter?" Draco asks. He tries to be snippy, but his words fall flat and he only ends up sounding beaten. "Did you come all the way up here to elaborate further on how much of a coward I am, to twist the proverbial knife, as it were?" He scoffs once, without humour.

Wringing his hands nervously, Harry sighs. "No, I just wanted to apologise. I'm truly sorry. I-I shouldn't have…"

"Need I paint you a picture, Potter," Draco begins, having found his voice and with it, his rage, again, "of what it was like for me during the war? Or even before it? Let's start with the lovely little Task I was given, shall we? The one Severus took care of because apparently I didn't have what it took to save my family, and if that wasn't bad enough…" He pauses for breath. " Well, you weren't there, obviously, and it wasn't the house you grew up in, your family home, that some evil, deranged bastard decided to... take possession of for his own fucked up purposes. Do you have any idea how traumatic all of that was for Mother, and how long it took for her to feel at home here again? Even after we got back from France and the whole place had been fumigated, stripped and redecorated from top to bottom, and then Snape…" Draco swallows hard. This is difficult, too difficult. This conversation is something he's been trying desperately to avoid. Even thinking about it... _Merlin_... He takes a deep, steadying breath. "And then you," he goes on, sounding frantic. "You…"

"What about me?" Harry asks, his voice tense and his breathing shallow. This onslaught of emotions is unexpected. He has never seen Draco like this before, unravelling in front of his very eyes.

"Do you have even an inkling of how much I feared for your safety, for your _life_, the whole damn time? And then you died, but you didn't and…" He buries his face in his hands. He struggles not to cry, but his attempts at self-control are useless. This has been a long time coming.

"I'm sorry," Harry says again. "Sometimes I get so terribly angry. You're right. I-I can't control it. My magic, I mean. I used to get help from Lupin and Snape, a potion. Hermione gave it to me, too, after they were… gone, but…" He trails off, unsure how to continue.

"Right," Draco says. Wiping away tears he doesn't want Harry to see, he looks up again. "Maybe you should talk to Granger, then," he suggests, even though in his heart of hearts he thinks that seeking Severus' counsel would be a lot better, but that's not exactly an option, not yet anyway.

Harry nods.

"Look," Draco says. Finding the tension too much to bear, he stands up. "Why don't I run you a bath? And then I'll go back downstairs to repair the damage before Mother shows up and throws a fit, or before Father has sufficiently recovered from his shock, deems it safe to come out of his room and starts moving around the house again."

"A bath," Harry parrots.

"Yes, I have some Lavender lotion in there that'll help relax you and soothe your nerves. There are potions I could recommend as well, but I don't want to experiment with them before we have Granger's input and know more about the mixture she used to give you; I'd hate to make things worse in the long run."

Harry frowns, confused by the abrupt change in subject and atmosphere. "Oh. All right, but… er… about what I said…"

Draco sighs. "You're stressed to the limit and I'm not faring much better. Let's just forget it, all right, before one of us says something we'll both regret? Enough damage has been done for one day."

Harry nods, although he can't help but feel that there still remain things left unspoken, important issues that are bound to crop up again sooner or later.

*****

Reassured in the knowledge that Harry is upstairs soaking amongst warm suds, Draco heads back to the sitting room where the confrontation with Zabini took place.

He's stunned to find Albus and Scorpius there, sitting in the middle of the carpet and experimenting with all sorts of spells. The boys have somehow managed to get the books neatly back onto their shelves. The windows are back to normal, too, though Draco has to wonder where the rose petals that are scattered all over the floor come from.

"All right," he says, his tone somewhere between surprised and amused, "would either of you care to tell me what's been going on here, aside from two underage wizards casting spells outside of school, that is?"

The duo turns around. Albus looks appropriately guilty and Scorpius replies with a pleading expression, "Sorry, Father, we didn't mean to eavesdrop earlier, when Zabini was here, but Al was scared, you see, and…"

"Scared?" Draco asks with a frown.

"Yes, Father. He thought Zabini had come here to take him and Lily away, that the sodding basta— Er, sorry, Father — that he was here to threaten you, that he'd somehow found out about you and Mister Potter, and…"

"If Dad isn't allowed to see us anymore," Albus blurts out, "he's going to get depressed again. He's been feeling 'off' for months. Maybe I shouldn't be telling you this, Mister Malfoy, I don't think Dad would want me to, but the thing is…"

Albus looks towards Scorpius for support, and the boy gives him an encouraging nod.

"Dad was really miserable for a long time," Albus continues. "It's only now, since he's been here, that… You're not breaking up with him now, are you?" He swallows hard and quickly adds, feeling daft for always wearing his heart on his sleeve, "I'm sorry. That was none of my business; how awfully rude of me."

Draco smiles gently. "Don't worry about it, Albus. I'm aware that your dad hasn't been well. Judging from the accidental magic he's been unleashing, first at Hogwarts and now here, his anger and sadness must have been building up for a while now."

"So," Scorpius ventures carefully, "you two… you're all right?"

"Yes," Draco says. "Harry's fine, I'm fine, and we haven't ended the relationship before it's even properly begun, so neither of you should worry about that."

The boys share a relieved smile. They're still coming to terms with the idea of their respective fathers being romantically involved, but the last thing they'd want is to see either man miserable again.

"Now," Draco continues, "let's try to get this room back to its original state, shall we?"

He takes out his wand, intent on salvaging what he can; most of it won't be a problem, save for that valuable antique vase.

No, Draco decides, his mother definitely won't be pleased once she discovers it has been reduced to countless little pieces.

*****

When Draco returns to his personal quarters, he finds Harry lying on his bed, wrapped in a green bathrobe and staring at the ceiling.

"Everything's been taken care of," he says and adds with a smirk, "And why, pray tell, aren't you dressed, Potter? Slouch about in my bedroom while other people clean up your mess, why don't you?"

Harry frowns. "But you said that—"

Draco grins. "Only kidding." He kicks off his shoes and plops down next to Harry. "You look knackered, Potter," he says with a slight smile that only partly masks his concern.

Harry sighs. "I am."

"You've used too much magic. You should definitely talk to Granger about this. You need your strength for other matters and you have to learn how to control your temper, so that this sort of thing stops happening."

"I know," Harry says glumly. He's too tired to protest, and besides, he knows full well that Draco's right.

"Harry…" Draco holds out his arms. "Come here."

Harry gladly scoots closer and snuggles up to Draco. "I am sorry, you know," he whispers. "I never meant to upset you like that."

"Shh," Draco says. "No real harm was done. It doesn't matter anymore."

"Yes, it does," Harry insists, "I shouldn't have said those things," and before he realises, he whispers, "I love you too much to lose you again."

Draco blinks, wondering whether he merely imagined that last part. "You _what_?" he breathes.

Harry gulps. He didn't mean to speak those words aloud, not yet, but then, he can hardly take them back now. He doesn't want to, either, when he thinks about it; he should have made his feelings known years ago. "I love you," he repeats in a wavering voice.

Draco smiles. He inhales sharply, gathering his courage. "Me, too," he then says. "Love you, I mean."

Harry's eyes widen. "R-Really?"

"I'm afraid so. Why else do you suppose I put up with you?"

Harry chuckles. He feels as though an enormous weight has been lifted from his shoulders. The past twenty-four hours have certainly been intense, but this conclusion almost makes it worth it. He stifles a yawn.

"Would you like to get some sleep?" Draco asks. "You look like you could use it."

"Yeah," Harry says. "Do you want me to go back to my room?"

"No," Draco says, kissing Harry's forehead. "You can stay here. I'm done with paperwork for today and I could really do with a nap myself."

"Sleeping in the middle of the day; we must be getting old."

"Speak for yourself, Potter."

Harry chuckles. He closes his eyes, and feeling cherished and safe in Draco's arms, he soon drifts off into a peaceful slumber.

*****

Ginny shakes her head in bewilderment. She's having serious trouble taking in, let alone believing, what she just heard.

"You actually _fought_? With Harry?" she exclaims, genuinely shocked. "Good Lord, Blaise, do you have any idea how… how foolish that is? Honestly, you and I, we have everything to lose; everything! I'm the one who cheated on him, I'm the one who got caught red-handed and I'll just bet that they'll claim I chased away my own children, too; that's the way they're going to make it sound if this ever makes it to the Wizengamot. We'll lose everything!"

Remaining incredibly calm, Blaise smirks. "Not necessarily," he says. "You see, my love, something tells me that there's more going on at Malfoy Manor than meets the eye and that our local hero isn't as pure and innocent as everybody believes him to be."

Ginny rolls her eyes in a haughty fashion. "What are you implying, Blaise, that my soon-to-be-ex-husband is shagging Narcissa Malfoy?"

"Interesting theory," Blaise replies, "albeit also a tad far-fetched."

Ginny crosses her arms. "No kidding. What is it, then?"

"At this point, I haven't a clue," Blaise says, "but Draco was terribly keen to defend Potter. I wouldn't have expected that at all. A Malfoy putting himself in the line of fire for someone who's not family? Something fishy has to be going on."

Ginny frowns. "I suppose it could be because of Albus. He's really chummy with the little Malfoy brat. They're like two peas in a pod."

" You may be right," Blaise says. "Still… Perhaps I should try to do some digging. I've known Malfoy for years and I know him more than well enough to be able to tell when he's up to something. And believe me, darling…" He smiles. "Right now, the arrogant little worm is definitely up to something."

Ginny gives her lover an uncertain smile. More and more, her acquiescence to let him go to the Manor turns out to be have been a very bad idea, and she can't shake the unmistakable feeling of dread that overcomes her. Blaise is setting them both up for no uncertain disaster, isn't he?

Once again, she wishes that she hadn't burned all her bridges and that she could still discuss her problems with Hermione.

*****

Hermione is nothing short of stunned when she sees Draco Malfoy's face appear in the flames of her fireplace.

"Malfoy," she says carefully and then a great and terrible fear grips at her heart. "I-Is there something wrong with Harry?" she asks urgently, unable to think of any other reason why this man might be contacting her.

"Nothing terrible, don't worry," he quickly reassures her, impressed by her obvious concern. So Harry definitely hasn't lost his two best friends; both Granger and Ronald Weasley remain loyal to him even though they couldn't make their own relationship work. It's quite touching, in a sickeningly _Gryffindor_ way.

"What happened?" Hermione asks, a worried frown wrinkling her forehead.

"Earlier today, his magic went out of control when Zabini unexpectedly showed up and behaved like a real bastard. Thankfully, no one got hurt, but if it happens once—well, twice if you count that incident at Hogwarts…"

"It'll happen again." Hermione sighs. "Oh dear."

"Right. So, I've been told that you know of a way to help him, a potion that will keep the influence of his temper on his magic within reasonable bounds?"

She bites her lip before she asks, avoiding his question for the moment, "How bad was it this time?"

"He all but wrecked a room. Again."

"Oh."

Back at Hogwarts, when Harry got so upset after discovering Ginny's infidelity, Hermione already feared that something like this might happen again. She hoped with all her heart that the surge of accidental magic which occurred then had been a one-off, triggered by extreme circumstances, but clearly that was terribly naïve on her behalf.

"He's resting now," Malfoy continues. "He completely wore himself out. I'll probably have his dinner taken up to him later, especially now that Father's here."

Hermione gulps. "L-Lucius?"

"Yes, Granger." Draco smirks. "You know, you're the second person who's had that reaction today when I mentioned my father. Do you suppose I should ask Mother some searching questions later on?"

Hermione blinks. Did she hear that correctly? Did Draco Malfoy just make a joke?

"So," he speaks again, serious once more, "am I correct in assuming that you know how to help Harry?"

"Well, um…." Hermione hesitates.

"Yes?"

"There was this potion, but it was never completely— I mean, it helped him, but only up to a certain point."

"Only up to a certain point? What exactly do you mean by that?"

"Well, I found the potion amongst Professor Snape's supplies after he… It was next to the Wolfsbane. I tried to analyse it at the time, but obviously, the opportunities and facilities to do so then were extremely scarce… In the end, I just watered it down and gave it to Harry that way, which wasn't as effective, obviously, but it got him through the rest of the war and the immediate aftermath."

Draco frowns. "So you don't know the ingredients?"

Hermione shakes her head. "Harry started doing much better after a while, especially when he got back together with Ginny, and I didn't think we'd need the potion again, so any research plans I had were put on the back burner."

Draco tries to ignore how much the mention of Ginny stings. "I see," he says flatly, and it almost sounds like an accusation.

"There were other people who badly needed my help then, you know," Hermione says, quick to defend herself. "People who were seriously wounded or who needed to track down lost relatives and loved ones."

Draco nods. "So, if I'm understanding this correctly, the only one with the knowledge of what's in that potion—"

"—was Professor Snape," Hermione says, and lets out a weary sigh.

For a few moments, they stare at each other silently, unaware that they're both thinking the same thing: that this really isn't that big an obstacle.

Draco finally breaks the silence. "Right. Thanks for trying anyway, Granger. I guess I'll have to find some other way to help Harry, then."

Hermione frowns. Is Malfoy already giving up? This quickly? This easily? That's not his style. That can't be right. "Wait!" she says.

"Why?" Draco asks. "I thought you just told me that you don't know how…"

"I don't, but…."

"You said that only Severus Snape…"

Hermione bites her lip and nods, and then a smirk spreads across Draco's features as the realisation dawns on him. "You _know_, don't you?" he puts to her.

Hermione swallows. "What do I know?" She has a feeling Malfoy is also aware of what Snape has done, but it's only a hunch. She's nowhere near certain enough to give the game away and to potentially expose a secret she solemnly promised to keep.

"The Potion Master's greatest scheme," Draco replies with a grin.

Hermione blinks, but says nothing.

"To stopper death," Draco quotes and Hermione lets out a relieved sigh.

"Yes," she finally admits. "I know about… that."

"Well, that should make this easier," Draco says pleasantly. "When precisely will you be returning to Hogwarts?"

"On Monday. Ron's family will be looking after the children next week, and I'm taking George back with me, so he can meet…. Well, he wants to see his brother again. It'll do them both a world of good, I think."

Truthfully, Hermione hasn't a clue why she's confiding in Malfoy of all people. Possibly because he happens to be there and seems willing to listen, and also because the man appears to have Harry's best interests at heart and that's something the two of them have in common, even though she can't make heads or tails of what Malfoy's motives for helping might be. Have he and Harry become friends?

"Sounds like you have an intense couple of days ahead of you, then," Draco says, frowning.

Hermione gives a small smile. "Yes, I suppose I do."

"So how are we going to go about this?"

"I'll Owl you the potion as soon as I possibly can," Hermione says. "Unless some unforeseen complications arise or certain ingredients are no longer available. I honestly have no idea what's needed or what the required brewing time is."

Draco nods in understanding; potion making is a fine and complex art.

"I'll be in touch soon," Hermione says.

She's ready to close the communication link when Draco asks unexpectedly, not even sure, himself, why he does, "Are you all right otherwise? The Weasleys aren't giving you a hard time, are they? For sticking up for Harry, I mean?"

'Harry,' Hermione thinks, 'he keeps saying Harry, not Potter,' and she files that little tidbit away for future reference before she replies, "No not exceptionally so. Molly's being difficult, but she's been acting that way ever since my divorce."

"If not from the very moment she was born," Draco supplies.

Hermione grins. "You won't get any argument from me there."

"Well," Draco says, "I'll talk to you soon, and if there's anything you need, you know where to reach us."

Stunned, Hermione nods. He actually sounds sincere. "Yes. Thank you, Malfoy."

"Later, Granger."

A wave of his hand and the wall of flames rises again, Hermione's face is gone and all Draco can think is that this was a lot less painful than he imagined.

Perhaps he'll actually get along with Granger some day. It's not entirely improbable. Far stranger things have happened lately.


	23. Chapter 23

Feeling relieved and mildly accomplished, Draco heads back upstairs.

He knows that it's neither an instant nor a permanent solution that he has come up with, and that it will probably be a while before whichever potion that Granger ends up sending takes effect, but at least this is something of a start and enough to make him see a glimmer of hope and to leave him feeling cautiously optimistic.

He opens the door to his room and smiles when he spots Harry sound asleep on the bed, still wrapped in that bathrobe. Draco can't deny that the man looks positively gorgeous like this, with his dark hair all tousled and a blissful smile on his face; clearly no nightmares have come to plague him this time.

Draco sits down on the bed and gently sifts a hand through Harry's hair.

Green eyes flutter open and squint at their surroundings. The first spoken word is a hesitant, "Draco?"

"Obviously," comes the dry response. "Were you expecting someone else perchance?"

Harry grins. "No."

"Good. I should hope not." Draco hands him his glasses. "Here."

"Thanks. Er.. For how long was I napping?" Harry can't help the guilt that courses through him at the thought that he may have slept most of the afternoon away… again.

"Only a couple of hours," Draco says softly, gently running a hand along Harry's cheek.

"Oh."

Draco smiles reassuringly. "Don't look so put out. You clearly needed the rest."

"Yeah." Harry's tone is hesitant. "I suppose I did."

Draco shakes his head. "There's no need to feel bad about being human," he whispers and then he leans down and gently kisses Harry on the lips, determined to lighten the mood and to emphasise that no real harm was done in the end.

Sighing softly into the kiss, Harry lifts his arms and tangles his fingers in Draco's hair, pulling the man's face closer to his own. "How much time do we have before we're expected at dinner?" he asks.

"Why?" Draco replies coyly. "Did you have something planned, Potter?" He slowly trails a hand down Harry's neck, shoulders and finally in between the folds of the robe, until he's touching bare skin. He caresses it lightly, his nimble fingers leaving goose bumps in their wake. "Something like this, for instance?" he adds in a whisper and leans down for another kiss, a passionate, lingering one this time.

Harry responds with equal enthusiasm that fast turns into need.

Draco loosens the robe and moves it aside. He smiles deviously when he discovers that Harry is completely naked underneath. He licks his lips, and at the sight of that lean body and those strong muscular legs, his cock stands to full attention.

"You're gorgeous, Potter," he says honestly. "Did I ever mention that?"

Harry bites his lip. His face is flushed and his voice is ragged as he replies, "So are you, Draco, but you know, this isn't very fair."

Draco raises an eyebrow. "Pardon?"

"I can't be the only one here who's naked."

Draco smirks. "Your objection has been duly noted."

He stands up and begins to strip. His movements are deliberately slow, and if Harry hadn't been so turned on already, he'd probably be somewhat amused by the scene in front of him.

Instead, though, his heart is hammering against his ribcage and by the time Draco rejoins him on the bed, Harry's cock is already throbbing in anticipation, too.

'Were things always like this?' he wonders.

'Yes,' his vivid memory reminds him.

Draco wipes a blond strand out of his eyes, and something occurs to Harry. "Your hair," he says, because he's curious and truth be told, he could really do with a brief time-out as well. He'd hate to get too carried away and climax before they've even done all that much. 'God, this is like being seventeen all over again,' he decides with an inner chuckle.

Draco frowns. "What about my hair?"

"Did you re-grow it or something?"

Draco's frown deepens. "I beg your pardon?"

"When I saw you again on the platform at King's Cross, when Albus was about to start his first year, it was kind of… um, well, basically, you looked like you were going bald."

"Ah." Draco chuckles. "Right. That."

"What's so funny?" Harry asks, baffled. If anything, he expected Draco to be offended or at the very least annoyed at the question.

"My son, as I'm sure you've noticed," Draco begins to explain, "can be quite… creative when the mood strikes him."

"Yeah, and…?"

"And he thought it would be interesting to try out a new hex on his unsuspecting father. Fortunately, its effects wore off after a few hours, but not before giving everyone plenty of amusement." He smirks. "Everyone but the long-suffering father in question, that is."

Harry can't help the laughter that escapes his lips.

"I thought you might find that funny, Potter," Draco says. "You've always hated my hair, haven't you?"

"No, I-I love your hair," Harry blurts out. "Well, okay, it looked pretty daft when you still gelled it back. You were all shiny and pale and bizarre looking, like a peroxide vampire or something."

Draco blinks. "A _what_ vampire?"

Harry laughs. "Never mind."

"Right. So…." Draco pauses meaningfully. "If you're quite done mocking my _coiffure_…"

Harry snickers again.

"How about shagging me, hm?"

Harry's breath hitches in his throat. "W-What?" he manages.

"Oh, I'm quite sure you heard me correctly," Draco says with a devious grin.

"Do you really want me to...?"

"Yes." He takes the lube out of the bedside table drawer, climbs on top of Harry, and positions himself so that their erections are aligned.

Harry gulps.

Draco kisses him and begins to roll his hips back and forth, slowly sliding his dick against Harry's.

Harry deepens the kiss and grabs Draco's behind, pulling the man closer, as close to him as he possibly can.

"Put some lube on your fingers," Draco whispers, pulling back for a moment. "Actually, on second thought, make that a lot of lube."

"And then what do I—?"

"What do you think?" Draco asks in a husky tone.

Harry blushes, feeling incredibly clueless all of a sudden. "Oh."

Draco kisses him softly. "I want you to prepare me, Harry," he says.

"Yeah, okay."

A few moments later, they start to move again. Harry's slicked right index finger trembles as he carefully pushes it inside Draco's entrance. All he can think is that this feels… different. He can't really tell whether Draco's enjoying it, not yet, but at least the intrusion doesn't seem to be hurting him.

Soon they're thrusting against each other again, a little too slowly to Harry's liking, but he's well aware that he has to hold back for now, until Draco's ready.

He adds a second finger.

"That's it. Try to stretch me," Draco whispers. "Your dick's supposed to fit in there soon, you know."

"Yeah." Harry takes a deep breath, his cock throbbing once again. He hopes he'll be able to last long enough.

His fingers begin to scissor, mimicking what he remembers Draco doing to him that morning.

Warm lips brush his cheek, his left ear and then kiss a trail down his neck, pausing to suck at the pulse point. Harry moans and pushes his fingers deeper, carefully adding a third.

At that, Draco lets out a deep groan. "Do that again?" he croaks out, his gaze pleading.

When Harry does, Draco emits another deep, guttural moan. "Oh God. _Harry_."

Harry smiles. He presses down again.

"Guh." Draco leans down and captures Harry's mouth in a long, thorough kiss that almost pushes them both over the edge.

"Wait," Harry says, sounding breathless. "Stop! Not yet, or I'm going to…"

"Me too," Draco whispers. "Right, then." He drops another kiss on Harry's forehead and moves to sit up. Carefully, he coats Harry's cock with lube.

Harry moans when he feels the thrilling combination of the cool substance and those talented fingers moving over him.

"Do you want me to shift," he asks, "so that I can—?"

Draco shakes his head. "Not a chance. I'm going to ride you."

Harry swallows hard. Unable to speak, he nods instead.

"This has been a fantasy of mine since I was fifteen," Draco says with a small smile.

"R-Really?" Harry manages. "I thought you hated me."

"Hated you, envied you, lusted after you… " Draco grins. "Suffice it to say, I was a rather confused and conflicted young man."

"Oh," Harry mutters. At any other time, he'd probably be chuckling, but here and now, he can only watch with wide eyes as Draco positions himself above him and then sinks down slowly, taking in Harry's cock inch by delicious inch.

"You're not in pain, are you?" Harry asks, worried when Draco's face contorts with something that doesn't seem to be pleasure.

"Just.... a little bit. Give me a moment here, all right?"

"Sure," Harry says, struggling to ignore how tight and warm Draco feels around his cock and how he'd really like to start thrusting up and down, and lose himself in that snug heat.

But he can't, _shouldn't_, not just yet.

Harry inhales sharply and then at last, Draco begins to move, carefully, clearly still trying out what might feel good, and just as Harry starts to get frustrated with the languid pace, Draco moans loudly. He's found the spot he was looking for. He gazes down at Harry. "Touch me?"

Harry nods. He reaches a hand between their bodies and begins to stroke.

Draco's eyes are closed. His brows are furrowed in concentration and he moans again, unmistakably in pleasure this time.

Harry thrusts up and down, but continues to hold back, letting Draco determine the pace completely. It's still somewhat frustrating, but at the same time it's also incredible, and the fact that it's Draco makes it even more so.

Finally, Draco moves faster.

"Thank Merlin, about time," Harry mutters and he's startled when a chuckle by his left ear reveals that he just said that aloud. He never meant to.

Before he can say anything else, though, the mood changes again.

Draco moans and gasps, increasing the now already frantic pace of his movements even further, until he suddenly screams, "Harry, _yes_!"

Warm liquid spills over Harry's hand and stomach. Draco's muscles clench around him, and the next thing Harry knows, he's coming too, groaning something unintelligible as he clings to Draco for all he's worth and lets go of everything else.

Soon the room goes silent, save for the sound of laboured breathing slowly returning to normal.

Draco climbs off Harry and lies down next to him, resting a hand on his chest.

After a few moments, Harry takes the hand, kisses its knuckles and sighs happily. "That was bloody amazing."

"Yeah. It was." Draco smiles. "I should have done this much sooner."

"With me, I hope," Harry says. He's only half-joking.

"Never with anyone but you, Harry."

At those words, Harry's heart clenches. He loves this man so much.

"Come on," Draco says. "Let's get cleaned up for dinner. You can wear something of mine if you'd like."

"All right," Harry replies absently and then asks, "Draco?"

"Hmm?"

"Tonight, can I—?"

"What?" He props himself up on one elbow and gives his companion a questioning look.

"Can I sleep here?"

Draco frowns.

"I'd rather not sleep alone," Harry begins to explain, hoping that he doesn't sound anywhere near as weak and pathetic as he thinks he does.

"Me neither,'" Draco says as though it's the most obvious thing in the whole wide world, and perhaps, here and now, it actually is.

 

*****

 

Another Firecall. Another blasted potential security breach.

Severus Snape takes a deep, calming breath and suppresses a strong urge to start swearing. Slowly, it begins to dawn on him that life as he knows it will probably never be the same again.

If only he'd upheld the secrecy and not made his presence known to Hermione Granger or Draco Malfoy, then perhaps all would still be well with the world.

Now, however, things are fast reaching the point where he's wondering whether he should just place a full-page announcement in _The Daily Prophet_ and have it done with.

 

_To whom it may concern, _

_Severus Snape is still amongst the living, keeping well and presently staying at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

_Kindly pick a number, line up and let the lynching commence._

 

Imbeciles.

"Yes, Miss Granger?" he snaps as the familiar face appears in the fireplace. "What in the world might be so terribly urgent that it cannot wait a few days?"

She takes a deep breath before she answers hesitantly, "It-It concerns Harry Potter, Sir."

"Yes." Severus smirks. "Of course. It would, wouldn't it?"

Hermione swallows. Funny, she thinks, how with just one look, this man is still able to reduce her to a stammering, insecure eleven-year-old.

"Well, go on," he continues. "Out with it, woman!"

Hermione coughs awkwardly. "Somehow, Harry has er— lost control of his powers again. Or rather, whenever his temper flares up, his magic does too, as though it's living a life of its own."

"I see."

Hermione wrings her hands nervously. Perhaps, she thinks, her decision to get in touch with Professor Snape was a bad idea. He looks as livid as she has ever seen him, but since she's started, she supposes she might as well continue. "He did some serious damage at Malfoy Manor."

"Did he now?" Snape looks almost amused, though not quite.

She nods. "And during the war, after you'd, um…"

"Died?" Snape supplies helpfully.

"Um, yes." Hermione smiles apologetically. "Well, whenever Harry lost control, I'd administer him some of the potion you used to give him, but a watered down version, so that the supply would last longer. I didn't have the time or the necessary equipment to do a proper analysis, you see." She looks at him and waits.

After a long moment, he says, "So Mister Potter contacted you, requesting more of this potion and you had to disappoint him because you haven't a clue where to start brewing it."

"Well, Malfoy— That is, Draco Malfoy Firecalled me, Sir. But you're right in assuming that I don't know where to start. I don't even know which ingredients I require. I realise it was an oversight on my behalf, and probably rather naïve too, to presume that Harry would be... stable after the war, but you see, Sir, he and Ginny looked so happy, and I thought— I mean, I was as good as convinced from the devotion they showed one another that…"

"Miss Granger," Snape interrupts her, his voice stern. "Mister Potter, as I know him, has always been unpredictable at best, and before you start describing the finer details of his relationship with Ginevra Weasley and subsequently put me off my dinner for the next two decades at least, let's get back to the core of the problem, shall we?"

Hermione swallows. "Right. Of course, Sir. I'm sorry, Sir."

"Right. So, let's recap: Draco Malfoy contacted you for help, you said?"

She nods. "Albus, Harry's youngest son, is Scorpius Malfoy's best friend, and Harry's been staying with them at the Manor, and—"

"I'm aware of all that," he states with a dismissive wave of his hand. How could he not be? He probably knew before Hermione did, courtesy of the letter Scorpius Malfoy sent the Headmistress.

'Quite a crafty little rascal, that one,' Severus decides with a slight smirk.

"Right, well," Hermione says, feeling more rattled by the second, "basically, I need that potion. And I told Mal—Draco that I'd do my utmost to obtain it when I returned to Hogwarts, but now that I've spent some time thinking about all this, I can't shake the feeling that Harry's present state is quite serious and will only get progressively worse if we don't intervene quickly. I mean, I have nothing against Ginny, obviously."

"Oh, perish the thought," Severus interjects dryly.

"But if Harry were to lose custody of his kids because he was deemed mentally unstable, he'd fall apart and none of us would be able to put him back together again. I'm well aware that you've never liked him, Sir, but… his kids would be awfully upset too; completely devastated, even. Lily adores her dad. She'd be—"

Snape frowns. "Miss Granger," he cuts in, "kindly cease attempting to use your particular brand of emotional blackmail on me. We're both intelligent people, so not only is this insulting to the both of us, I'll also have you know that contrary to popular opinion, I'm not entirely heartless."

Hermione blinks, feeling more than a little out of her league. "I'm sorry, Sir," she utters in a small voice and realises that she's been saying that an awful lot today.

"You have stopped to consider, I take it," he says, barely acknowledging her apology, "that if I were indeed to brew that potion for Mister Potter, that it would only help lessen the consequences of his anger, take the edge off, as it were. No potion in the world can fix why Harry Potter is acting this way. If he is truly troubled, as you imply, a simple potion won't be enough. He'll need another type of... help."

Hermione nods. "Yes, I know, Sir, but I don't think there's enough time left to figure out the how and why. We have to act in any way we can, as quickly as we can, before he does some serious damage to himself or to the outcome of his divorce. Or"—she takes a deep breath and despite her better judgment, tries something that might matter to the snide man on the other side of the flames—"to the Malfoys."

Severus lets out a resigned sigh. "Very well. I'll brew the potion tonight. I believe I will find the necessary ingredients in my—I beg your pardon, in _your _supply cabinet. I'll send the brew by Owl when it's finished and if all goes well, it should arrive in Wiltshire the day after tomorrow."

Relieved, Hermione smiles. "Thank you very much, Sir."

"Meanwhile, however," he continues, "I suggest that Draco Malfoy and yourself make the effort to try to find out what Mister Potter truly wants and needs at this point."

Hermione blinks. "How do you mean?"

"Look for the reason behind his volatile behaviour, Miss Granger."

"Right. I—" Hermione considers that question for a moment before she replies, "I guess that whatever it is boils down to how he just needs to have some kind of closure."

"I'll see you on Monday, Miss Granger," Snape says curtly, and before she can utter anything else, he abruptly closes the communication link.

He is certain that she can't hear the bitter words he speaks next, but as she stands there, baffled, they echo through the room and all around her.

"Closure. Yes. Don't we all?"

 

*****

 

Five minutes after Draco has arrived, Harry walks into the lavish dining room, just as they agreed upon earlier, to ward off any suspicion.

"Good evening," he mutters awkwardly, glancing at everyone already seated at the table and his heart jumps up into his throat the very moment he catches sight of Lucius.

"Hello," Narcissa says pleasantly. "I hope you're feeling better after that little incident with Zabini. I do believe we should have an urgent word with the Elves. Apparently anyone can just waltz in and out of here these days."

Harry gulps. 'Bugger. She knows,' he thinks, but all the same, he manages a wan smile and replies, "Yes, thank you."

Draco is about to speak up in an attempt to break the loaded tension, which is becoming almost tangible at this point, when Lily beats him to it.

The little girl rises from her seat, twirls around and asks with a bright smile, "So, what do you think of my new dress, dad?"

Harry smiles in part relief, part pride. His daughter looks adorable with her red hair in braids and green ribbons that are a perfect match for her dress and eyes.

"Very pretty, sweetheart," he says.

Lily smiles. "We bought four new dresses today, dad. One is green, two are pink and the last one is yellow with red buttons."

Harry blinks. "F-Four dresses?"

"I'm afraid I simply had to insist on it," Narcissa says matter-of-factly. "Lily is becoming quite a young lady, Mister Potter. She needs the wardrobe to match."

Harry clears his throat, thinking it best not to argue with Mrs. Malfoy or to make his daughter feel sad about something that clearly makes her happy. "Of course. Thank you."

Narcissa smiles.

Lily sits down again, and Harry follows her example. He casts a brief glance at Draco who gives him an encouraging wink, and something tells him that despite the apparent relaxed atmosphere, tonight's dinner will be awkward.

Lucius has yet to utter a single word.

 

*****

 

By the time dessert is served, fortunately, most of the tension has dissipated, even though Harry still finds it quite strange to be sitting there with his children and to be watching the Malfoys without any anger or other bad feelings.

Lucius is seated at the head of the table, listening to his grandson's enthusiastic tales about Hogwarts. Sometimes the boy tries to involve Albus in the conversation, but Albus is shy around strangers, particularly adults of Lucius' standing, so he doesn't say much.

Still, Harry has to admit that his son seems very much at ease, if the adoring glances he often gives his best friend—'boyfriend now,' Harry corrects himself, still getting used to the idea—are anything to go by.

Meanwhile, Narcissa is doting on Lily as if the girl were her own granddaughter, and James is eating his meal in contented silence, now and then pausing to give his little brother an amused grin.

Harry smiles. Across the table, his gaze meets Draco's and he feels a bubble of happiness well up inside him.

He doesn't know whether the Malfoys have already discussed the confrontation with Zabini in great detail, or if they've even talked about their house guests, but for now, in spite of Lucius' intimidating presence, Harry feels at home, and that's more than he could have ever hoped for.

 

*****

 

"So, Mister Potter," Lucius says when James has left the table twenty minutes after the other youngsters asked to be excused. "Are there any further steps that need to be taken to ensure that no future... _incidents_ will occur here?"

"I contacted Hermione Granger, Father," Draco says before Harry finds the words to form a coherent reply.

"Did you now?" Lucius asks, one quizzical eyebrow raised.

"Yes, Father. Harry had similar problems during the war, and she has experience helping him in that area."

The man folds his hands in front of him. "Is that so?"

"Yes, but the potion got it under control," Harry interjects, feeling out of place once again, and awfully guilty for his latest burst of accidental magic, even more so than before. What if Lucius were to tell him to leave? The man is the Lord of the Manor after all…

"I see, but nonetheless," the elder Malfoy continues in a flat tone that betrays nothing about his present feelings, "these... problems, Mister Potter, they don't just randomly pop up out of nowhere, do they?"

Harry shakes his head.

"There has to be a trigger. In this particular case: Blaise Zabini. Correct?"

"Yes, that's right."

"You know, Mister Potter, Zabini is, not to put too fine a point on it, all talk and no trousers. I've yet to see him or anyone he associates with on a regular basis—  
present company not withstanding obviously, Draco—amount to anything much. So you really shouldn't let him aggravate you, Mister Potter. The measly little worm is hardly worth it."

"I know," Harry says softly, and he's indeed aware that the man makes a valid point. "But I-I can't—"

"It's not as though the poor boy can help it, Lucius," Narcissa cuts in. "Honestly. If you ask me, denying Blaise Zabini access to our home would solve a lot of problems."

Harry flinches at 'poor boy', but he decides to keep his mouth shut when Draco shakes his head at him. Clearly this is something Lucius and Narcissa need to work out amongst themselves.

"Are you suggesting that we get some kind of order at the Wizengamot, Narcissa, to forbid Zabini from coming here? You do realise that such could be seen as a provocation, don't you? Denying Mrs. Po—Miss Weasley access to her children, such would hardly be advisable, considering…"

Narcissa shakes her head. "I was thinking more along the lines of fortifying the Wards, dear. After all, if Zabini sets off our guest and by proxy causes damage to our home, we do have a right to protect ourselves, do we not?"

"And Granger will send us that potion too, Father," Draco supplies. "As soon as she's able to. This was just a slip-up. Wasn't it, Harry?"

Harry nods.

"Right, then," Narcissa says determinedly. "That's settled. Tomorrow, we're putting up stronger Wards and in the meantime, I'm Owling Mister Zabini a nice little bill for the antique vase he broke. It was a family heirloom, too. Really now, the nerve of some people…!"

"Er, technically," Harry begins, but Narcissa cuts him off. "Nonsense. It wasn't your fault. The silly boy should have known better than to come here and aggravate a powerful wizard with a history of... unfortunate magical mishaps."

She places her napkin next to her plate and takes a sip from her wine before turning to her husband. "Come on, darling. It's been a long and tiring day. We'll deal with the practicalities of what we've decided in the morning."

Lucius sends another sceptical glance in Harry's direction, but rises from his seat regardless. "Very well, Cissa. Good night, Draco. Mister Potter."

Lucius and Narcissa exit the room and Harry lets out the long breath he'd been holding.

"That wasn't too bad, was it?" Draco begins carefully.

"No," Harry admits. "Though I'd rather not have your mother pitying me. 'Poor boy', indeed."

Draco shakes his head. He reaches across the table and grabs Harry's hand. "It's not pity. It's more along the lines of... empathy. She cares about you, Harry. She doesn't want to see you hurt."

This earns him a frown. "Why?"

Draco shrugs. "Why would anyone care? You saved the world as we presently know it. You saved my life all those years ago, too, and you're quite likeable if one looks past your ghastly fashion sense..."

"Hey!"

Draco chuckles. "Mother just cares, all right? And it doesn't take a genius to see how fond she's become of your daughter, or vice versa, for that matter."

"Yeah." Harry smiles. "Lily seems to be enjoying herself. It's almost like—" He lets out a solemn sigh.

"What?"

"Like the stuff with Ginny and Zabini never happened; like we're a happy family again. Well, not Ginny and I, of course, but this... _here_." He shakes his head at his own words. "That doesn't make much sense, does it?"

Draco smiles. "On the contrary, it makes the world of sense. And we will be a happy family some day. You and me, and those kids, and as long as no one tries to convince Albus and Scorpius that they should start acting like brothers, I'm certain that everything will work out in the end."

Harry can't help but chuckle. "I hope you're right."

"Aren't I always?"

Harry grins. "Er—"

Draco chooses to ignore that. "Maybe we should retire too. Mother was right; it has been a long and tiring day."

"Hm. You can go first and I'll head up to your room ten minutes later and make sure no one sees me."

Draco grins. All this sneaking around is quite absurd when he stops to consider it, but on the other hand, he doesn't mind feeling like he's seventeen again.

"You know," Harry says, suddenly serious and slightly solemn once more, "I'm still not feeling too convinced about Zabini, though."

Draco frowns. "How so?"

"He's not entirely clueless, and he does have connections, and he did have a point; I could have been a better husband, been home more often, paid more attention to what Ginny needed and—"

"Harry…"

"I really don't know what I'd do if I couldn't see Al or James or Lily again."

Draco moves to stand, walks over to where Harry is seated and pulls him into a tight embrace. "Shh," he says soothingly. "Don't worry. It'll never come to that."

Harry swallows, fiercely returns the embrace and rests his head against Draco's shoulder. "What makes you so sure?" he says in a small voice.

"For one thing, Harry," Draco replies, "I know the Weasleys well enough to know that if Ginevra pulled a stunt like that, she'd alienate her whole family. Besides, everyone can see that you're a wonderful dad."

"I-I am?"

"Yes, you prat. Your kids adore you." Draco's tone leaves no room for argument. He kisses Harry on the cheek and whispers, "Right. I'm going to my room. Join me there in ten, all right?"

Harry nods. "Okay," he says, but he doesn't let go, not quite yet. "I love you," he whispers.

"Likewise," Draco says.

With a slight grin, Harry watches Draco walk out of the room, but he never notices the other person, the one who leaves through a side-door, wide-eyed and speechless.


	24. Chapter 24

Harry yawns and languidly stretches out an arm before blinking in confusion. The other side of the large double bed is slightly warm, but also unexpectedly empty.

He sits up, reaches out, picks his glasses off the bedside table, and looks around the room. He's surprised to see Draco standing by the window, already fully dressed.

"Is everything okay?" he asks, unable to keep the worry from his voice.

"Oh, so you're finally back amongst the living, are you?" Draco says.

"Yeah," Harry replies with a frown. "What's happening, though? What are you doing all the way over there?"

Draco turns around and says, smirking, "Come and see for yourself."

Slightly worried, Harry shrugs on a bathrobe and walks to the window.

"Look who's up early," Draco says, gesturing towards the two small figures standing in the garden below: Albus and Scorpius.

"What's that thing Al is holding in his hands?" Harry asks, bewildered.

"That would be Timothy the toad," Draco says. "Scorpius befriended him last summer; and I really wouldn't refer to the creature as a 'thing', Potter. My son would be ever so upset if he heard."

"Oh. Right."

Harry watches as Albus carefully places the animal in his left hand, gently pets its head and finally puts it back down on the grass while Scorpius looks on, grinning.

The boys say something to one another. Then Scorpius kisses Albus on the cheek, grabs his hand, and they both disappear from view.

As does their little companion, who quickly hops back to his safe place underneath the shrubbery.

"Sickeningly sweet, aren't they?" Draco asks, catching Harry's broad smile and frankly, rather goofy expression.

"Yeah." Harry shakes his head. "Can you picture the two of us at that age, acting like that?"

"I'd rather not undertake any such attempt," Draco says with a grin. "Besides, I was having far too much fun trying to make your life miserable at the time."

"A complete nightmare is what you were," Harry remarks, still smiling.

"One does try."

Harry swats Draco on the shoulder. "Very funny, Malfoy."

"There's no need to resort to physical violence," Draco points out dryly, "and do get some clothes on, Potter. Breakfast will be served in twenty minutes."

Harry rolls his eyes. "Prat," he mutters before he kisses Draco on the cheek and heads to the bathroom.

  
*****  


Ginny crosses her arms in front of her. "I appreciate what you're trying to do for me, Blaise," she says carefully. "Truly, I do, but—"

"But?" he repeats, a harsh edge to his voice.

"Are you certain you want to open that can of worms?" she goes on with increasing hesitation. "At the end of the day, Harry's still a war hero—_the_ war hero, at that—and I'm just… I'm nobody."

Blaise shakes his head. "You know, I could smash that bastard's nose to the other side of his face for what he's done to your self esteem. Firstly, war hero or not, he treated you appallingly, and secondly, you are and always have been a gorgeous, talented, amazing woman, so don't let Harry Potter's behaviour ever make you believe otherwise."

Ginny suppresses a sigh. "I know you mean well, darling," she says with a wan smile, "but we've had this discussion a few times already. Please, let it slide."

"Let it slide," he repeats slowly, enunciating every syllable. "Right. Must I remind you that only a few days ago, you were crying your eyes out because you were missing your daughter terribly? And now, after I've tried my utmost to get the girl back out of Potter's clutches, you're actually telling me to 'let it slide'? Charming. And never mind the fact that Draco Malfoy, who I might add is even more of a vain, stuck-up bastard now than he was back at school, has deeply offended me in the process; as has your muck-for-brains husband himself."

Ginny swallows the lump in her throat. "I'm sorry, darling. You did nothing to deserve such treatment from either of them, but I really wouldn't want to make matters worse. I just wished that we—"

"Right," Blaise says curtly as he rises from his chair. "Right. Well, here's a thought for you, Mrs Potter: how about you finally figure out what it is that you do want, and once you've reached something vaguely resembling a conclusion, you let me know what it is, so we can proceed from there?"

She flinches at the harshness of his tone. "Blaise, wait, I never said that—"

Ignoring her plea, he grabs his cloak and heads for the door.

"Blaise?" Ginny leaps up as a feeling of panic overwhelms her. "Blaise? Where are you going?"

"Out," he yells and slams the door shut behind him.

Ginny sinks back down in the nearest chair and chokes out a sob. No, this isn't going at all according to plan.

  
*****  


James sighs as he sits down on the bench.

He realises that he hasn't spoken two words all day, and he's having some serious difficulties concentrating on his textbook, too, even though he knows full well that he should try to make the effort to pay more attention. After all, his NEWTs are mere months away, and he does intend to do well, doesn't he?

Of course he does, and not only for his parents' sake. _Assuming they even care at this stage,_ he thinks with a wry smile. His mother is otherwise occupied with Zabini, and as for his father…

_Merlin! _

James shakes his head warily, unwilling to let his thoughts venture down that particular avenue of horror.

Regardless, no matter what his parents are up to, James is determined to be his own man and to find his own way in life, rather than merely be known as Harry Potter's firstborn, and lumbered with a legacy he never asked for.

He wonders whether Lily and Albus will have similar problems later on in life, having to live up to certain expectations simply because of who their father is.

_Probably not,_ he decides; this kind of pressure always tends to befall the eldest.

"Well, hello there," a warm, pleasant voice says.

Surprised, James turns his head around to see Narcissa Malfoy standing a few feet away. She has a kind smile on her face, but nonetheless, her presence unsettles him slightly.

He hasn't failed to notice that she's a lot smarter than one might suspect at first glance, and furthermore, there seems to be an ulterior motive to everything she undertakes. James doesn't believe for one moment that her showing up here at this very moment is sheer coincidence.

"Good morning, madam," he says politely, unwilling to show any signs of uncertainty or distress.

Narcissa wastes no time getting straight to the point. "Is everything all right, young man?"

"Yes," he says a little too quickly to be even remotely convincing.

"Do you mind if I sit down?" Narcissa goes on to ask.

"No. No, of course not, Mrs Malfoy," he replies, and so she does before she continues: "I couldn't help but notice, and I do hope that you won't mind me prying, but you did seem awfully quiet at breakfast."

"Oh? Did I?" James feigns ignorance, but he has never been terribly good at that sort of thing, so it's no surprise that Narcissa isn't fooled by his attempt, not even for a second.

"Indeed," she says. "Your studies aren't giving you any trouble, are they? You know, Draco had a most excellent private tutor when he was your age. Of course, his problems had a lot to do with having to speak French, too, a language he wasn't terribly familiar with back then, but nonetheless, I can imagine that you must be under a lot of pressure, with your NEWTs just around the corner and then that… regrettable business with your parents."

"I'm fine, madam," James says, and then adds, hoping to cushion his brusque reply, "But I do appreciate your concern."

"Of course." Narcissa smiles kindly. "Well, don't hesitate to let me know if you ever change your mind about that tutor."

For a few moments, a strange sort of silence reigns while James debates with himself whether he should tell her what's on his mind.

Of course he has no guarantees that he can even trust the woman sitting next to him, but the questions are burning on his tongue and he can't think of anyone else to turn to.

Albus and Lily are far too young, his father doesn't qualify for obvious reasons, and every Weasley he knows has been blessed with all the discretion of an enchanted megaphone on a rampage.

And the fact remains that he does yearn to confide in someone.

"Do you suppose, Mrs Malfoy," he at last ventures carefully, "that my father is happy?"

Narcissa considers that question for a moment before she says, "Is there any particular reason why you ask?"

"N-No," James replies, this lie not one bit more convincing than the previous one. "I was just wondering, that's all."

"I must admit," Narcissa says, "to having been quite concerned about your father at one point. When I went to fetch him at that flat, he was in a less than healthy state, especially mentally. Now, however, I'm under the impression that he appears to be doing rather well."

"He and Mister Malfoy certainly seem to be getting along like a house on fire," James remarks and truthfully, he didn't mean for those words to come out so snide or for his reply to encompass some underlying implication that now looms over Mrs Malfoy and himself like a sword ready to fall.

"They seem to have become friends, yes," Narcissa says carefully. "Am I to understand that you don't really approve of this?"

James takes a deep breath. He's still not quite done with his inner struggle.

Once upon a long ago, his dad was the person he went to with such things, and failing that, he'd talk to his grandpa, who's always been, at least as James sees it, the more reasonable person within the Weasley family, but seeking either of those men's counsel isn't an option right now.

"I think," he finally says, "that my father and Mister Malfoy— I don't quite know how to phrase this, but— "

"You're a bright young man," Narcissa points out, her tone revealing nothing of what she might or might not already know. "No doubt you'll find some way to get your point across."

"Right; er— I think... that… my dad and Mister Malfoy are together. You know, in the er—" He coughs awkwardly before finally blurting out, "in the 'relationship' sense of the word."

"Ah." Narcissa smiles, seemingly unaffected. "And what makes you presume that?"

James runs a shaky hand through his hair. "I forgot my book last night in the dining room, and I didn't mean to eavesdrop or anything, but—" He shrugs and looks every bit as miserable as he feels.

Perhaps he should have kept quiet. Perhaps this was a terrible idea. Maybe he doesn't yet know how he's supposed to cope with his father's... whatever it is, but he does realise full well that the overall situation is unlikely to improve if Narcissa—or Lucius, who seems quite scary even though the man really hasn't said all that much yet—were to kick them all out.

Besides, what was he even thinking, confiding in Mrs Malfoy? He barely knows the woman. Honestly, he might as well have been sorted into Hufflepuff if he's going to trust everyone so unquestioningly and at the drop of a hat.

"So you overheard them talking and assumed—" Narcissa recaps, clearly urging him to explain further.

"No, not quite. You see, there was nothing left _to_ assume," James replies miserably. "It was plainly obvious what was going on. I mean, there was no way that I could have misinterpreted what I heard."

At that, he bites his bottom lip and hopes with all his heart that Mrs Malfoy won't ask him for any details. That would be dreadfully awkward.

"I see," Narcissa says simply, and then to James' astonishment adds, "Well, they're both grown men. I guess they know what they're doing."

James gulps. "I-I suppose so."

"You know," Narcissa continues. "It's quite strange to see one's children go through life; so many changes, all those decisions they need to make, and I won't lie to you, James. I must confess that I've had my suspicions for some time now."

"Oh?" he exclaims, shocked. "You mean that this has been going on for a while?"

"No," she says reassuringly. "Your father didn't cheat on your mother with my son if that's what you're really asking, but Draco and Harry do have… a history."

"Yeah," James says. "I know. They used to hate each other's guts."

"Sometimes, dear boy," Narcissa says matter-of-factly, "there's a very fine line between love and hate."

James frowns. It's an expression— no, he decides, a cliché— that he's certainly heard before, but he still for the life of him can't understand what it truly means, particularly in this context.

His father hasn't always loved Draco Malfoy, has he?

No. That's simply too daft for words—

_Isn't it? _

  
*****  


With determined steps, Narcissa swiftly strides onto the patio.

As expected, Harry and Draco are sitting there. Draco is composing a letter while Harry leafs through a Quidditch magazine.

"Boys," Narcissa says, almost causing Harry to drop his reading material, "I do believe that the three of us need to have a word."

She gives them a meaningful look and then with a quick flick of her wand, locks the door.

"Er—" Harry frowns, feeling rather ill at ease all of a sudden.

"Your oldest son, Mister Potter," Narcissa begins, getting straight to the heart of the matter, "has apparently overheard the exchange the two of you had last night in the dining room."

"Oh, bugger," Harry says, fast turning pale.

Narcissa crosses her arms. "So am I to believe that he interpreted what he heard and saw correctly?" she says.

"That would depend on the conclusion he reached, wouldn't it, Mother?" Draco replies dryly, but the woman is having none of it.

"There might be a time and a place for your cheek, young man," she declares in a stern tone, "but this is neither."

Draco's eyes widen in shock. He hasn't been called 'young man' like that in a very long time.

Harry, too, looks utterly perplexed. "I'll er—" he begins, quickly rising from his chair. "I-I'll er- go and talk to James, then. Where is he, Mrs Malfoy? Do you know?"

"He's in the garden, sitting on a bench by the large greenhouse," Narcissa says. She unlocks the door again, and then turns to her son. "And since I'm here, I'd like to clear certain matters up with you as well, Draco."

"Yes, Mother," comes the almost timid response.

  
*****  


Harry finds James exactly where Narcissa said he would be.

The boy is sitting on a bench, staring off into space, and he reminds Harry somewhat of himself at that age, albeit taller and minus the glasses.

Moreover, James caries himself with a grace that Harry has never been lucky enough to possess. The boy is exceptionally good at dancing, too, and rather than walk, he seems to glide from one place to another.

On top of that, he's intellectually gifted as well; his grades even rivalling the ones Hermione left Hogwarts with.

All things considered, Harry has many reasons to be extremely proud of his eldest son, although, in this very moment, he has a strong feeling that those sentiments aren't exactly reciprocated.

Harry awkwardly clears his throat, causing the boy on the bench to look up in wonder. "Hello, dad," he says simply.

Harry smiles. "Would you like some company?" he asks, feeling more nervous than he has done in quite a while.

"Go for it," comes the non-committal response. "I seem to be pretty popular today; first Mrs Malfoy wanted to sit with me; now you."

Harry forces another smile. "I wanted to talk to you."

"Yeah, I'd gathered as much."

Harry almost flinches at the defensive nature of the boy's tone. James is generally soft-spoken and polite. Last night's discovery must have upset him greatly, Harry decides. Hopefully it won't cause him to leave the Manor too and to broadcast what he saw and heard. The consequences would be disastrous.

"This is about Draco Malfoy, isn't it?" James goes on.

"Yes," Harry says, wringing his hands in his lap. It's weird, he thinks, to experience how one of his own kids apparently has the power to make him feel like the roles are reversed, like James is the parent and Harry is the child; and a naughty, disobedient child in need of reprimand, at that.

"You're involved with him, aren't you?"

Harry opens his mouth to speak, but James cuts him off, "And before you answer that, please credit me with some intelligence, Father. You spent the night in his room, or you were about to do when I heard you talking. So something is clearly going on between the two of you, and I don't think it involves nightly tournaments of Wizard's Chess."

"I have no intention of lying to you, James," Harry says, struggling hard to shrug off the boy's sarcasm, "and to answer your question: yes, Draco and I, we… we are involved, you're right. We got together recently."

"You do mean 'back together', don't you?" James puts to him, one eyebrow raised.

Harry blinks. Clearly, he has gravely underestimated his son.

"Funny," James continues, not bothering to wait for a response. "I always thought that mum had been your only teenage love. Well, not counting some girl you dated for a few weeks— Cho something-or-other— but mum wasn't the first, was she?"

"No," Harry replies in a small voice, having decided that total honesty is probably the best policy here. "During the war, Draco and I…"

Now it's James' turn to be stunned. "During the war," he repeats grimly.

"Your mum and I had already broken up. Well, broken up for the first time."

"Yes, temporarily, for her own safety," James says, repeating what he's been told a hundred times over: the tale of Harry Potter putting his relationship on hold, choosing loneliness for the sake of keeping his sweetheart safe. And what a bloody sham that supposedly noble gesture now turns out to have been, too.

Harry nods. "I did mean that, at the time."

"Hm." James isn't the least bit convinced. "And when you started your fling with Mister Malfoy, weren't you at all scared for his safety, then? Frankly, it sounds to me like you'd just been stringing mum along."

As James says those words, he crosses his arms and fixes his father with a deadly glare. Up until now, he has tried his utmost to remain impartial in all of this and reasonable about the subject too, but if both his parents clearly insist on lying, cheating and acting like a pair of immature fools, then James sees no reason to keep pulling punches when it comes to either of them.

"I was worried about Draco, too," Harry says softly. "Very much so, but he just shrugged off my concerns. He said that if Voldemort ever got a hold of him that he was as good as dead anyway. He kept telling me that the bastard didn't need any extra incentive to kill him, that he was up to his ears in reasons already." Harry sighs. "He had a good point as well. Still, we kept our liaison a secret, hoping no one would ever find out. And they didn't; as far as I know."

James frowns. "So are you saying that mum didn't protest when you broke up with her?" That part especially makes little or no sense to him.

"Not really," Harry replies truthfully. "She wasn't exactly happy about if, of course, but she accepted it; she said she understood."

"And Mister Malfoy didn't understand?"

Harry shakes his head. "I don't know if he understood, but he was too much of a stubborn git to take 'no' for an answer. He still is, come to think of it."

James bites his lip and silently studies his father's face for a moment. There's a glint in the man's eye that seems to be there whenever he mentions Draco Malfoy.

"You," James finally asks— because he can't not; some part of him simply must know. "You do... care about him, don't you?"

"Very much," Harry says in earnest.

"Did you, er—?

"What?"

"You never actually stopped caring about him, did you? I mean—"

"Go on…"

James takes a deep breath. "Obviously," he continues, "I haven't had much experience with these things; well, none, really, but you two seemed… very comfortable around each other last night." James is almost tempted to say 'like grandma and grandpa do', though on second thought, that's definitely not a comparison he wants to make.

"I've loved him since I was about your age," Harry admits softly, "and no, I don't think those feelings ever stopped. They've just… lain dormant for a long time."

"But mum," James says, the hard edge returning to his voice. "Did you—"

"I loved her deeply too, yes," Harry says, but he chooses to omit that in hindsight he loved her more like a sister than anything else because although James is old enough to understand, this isn't something that the boy really needs to know; just so long as he realises that Harry never used Ginny, that bad decisions were merely made on both their parts.

"And I still don't wish her any ill, James," Harry clarifies. "In spite of everything that's happened lately, I hope that someday we'll be able to at least be civil to each other again."

James sighs. "I hope everything will work out, dad," he says, unsure how else to respond. At least Draco Malfoy seems all right enough, he supposes; unlike that Zabini wanker; and if Scorpius is already a permanent fixture in their lives anyway, what difference is one more Malfoy going to make? James almost laughs at that thought.

"So," Harry says, eager to break the awkward silence and change the subject. "How about you?"

"Me?"

"Are you seeing anyone special?" Harry asks, aghast to realise that he knows so little about his eldest. Granted, the boy's more secretive than most, and very independent, but still...

Once again, Harry is painfully aware that he should have been around more these past few years; if not for his wife, then at the very least for his kids. James is practically a man now; and when exactly did that happen?

"No," James replies with a wry grin. "It isn't easy, you know, being Harry Potter's son. They all expect me to be like you, slay dragons and all that rot. Well, all right, maybe I'm exaggerating about the dragons, but you catch my drift."

"Sorry," Harry says, and he really is. He knows all about unrealistic expectations and the bitter taste they leave in one's mouth.

James shrugs. "Don't worry about it, dad. It's not your fault that most people these days are complete morons."

"Well, I'm sure that the right person will come along eventually," Harry says with a small smile. "Someone who doesn't care about your name, but who likes you for yourself."

"You mean the right girl, dad," James says.

"Pardon?" Harry asks, confused.

"You don't have to take the 'person' route with me. Believe it or not, but there is actually one bloke in our family who is completely straight."

Harry frowns for a moment, but then he notices the wide grin on his son's face.

"I just thought I'd mention it," James adds with a chuckle.

And at that, Harry can't help but laugh, too. James will be fine. They all will, eventually.


	25. Chapter 25

Draco enters his room and smiles in relief when he spots Harry standing by one the windows.

"Hello, Potter," he says pleasantly, walking towards him. "I thought I might find you here. So, how did it go?"

If he's honest with himself, Draco has to admit to being more than a little anxious about learning the outcome of Harry and James' conversation, but at the same time he's determined not to let those worries show.

Harry turns around. "Fine," he replies with a small smile. "Better than I thought it would. James was… surprisingly understanding about the whole thing. Kind of shocked as well, though."

Draco nods slowly. "That was to be expected, wasn't it?"

"Yeah." Harry lets out a long, weary sigh before he finds the words to continue. "Not because I'm involved with a man now, though. He took that part quite well. He was more concerned that—"

"Yes? Go on."

"He all but asked me flat-out if I'd been stringing his mum along for all these years."

Draco frowns. "He did what? Why would he even think such a thing?"

"Er, it seems he gathered that you and I… He seemed to sense somehow that what we share isn't anything recent."

"Ah. He's very bright and observant, isn't he? Almost makes one wonder how he ever ended up in Gryffindor."

"Very funny, Malfoy." Harry shakes his head, and then adds softly, running a hand through his unruly hair, "I never did, you know. String Ginny along, I mean. Not even when she and I no longer—when we slept in separate bedrooms, I mean. All that time, I didn't as much as look at anyone else. Not until you came back into my life."

"No." Draco bites back a chuckle at Harry's bashfulness. "I can't picture you cheating on anyone, not even on a little tart like Ginevra. You're far too loyal and noble for that sort of thing."

"She's no ta—" Harry begins, but soon decides against starting an argument. The possible reasons behind Ginny's behaviour aren't relevant here, and discussing them would only cause needless pain and aggravation besides. What's done is done.

"I thought about you quite often, though, over the past years," he admits instead and smiles sheepishly before directing his gaze outside once more.

Draco smiles. He moves to stand behind Harry, rests his head against the man's shoulder and wraps his arms around him. "Sentimental sod," he says. "I thought about you too, you realise. Rather a lot, in fact." His smile fades slightly when he considers all the precious time they've wasted.

Harry swallows hard. "What about your mother?" he goes on to ask, sounding as though he dreads Narcissa's reaction. "How did she take it?"

"I'm still alive, aren't I?" Draco grins and then continues in a more serious tone, "She didn't react too badly to the news either, although she did express some reservations as well."

"Reservations?" Harry keeps his gaze fixed on a pine tree in the nearby distance. "How do you mean? Of what kind?"

Unsettled by the tremor in Harry's voice, Draco tightens his grip. "She was worried that we might be moving too fast. She asked me if I was absolutely sure that you weren't on the rebound and she reminded me that we both have children to consider, including Albus and Scorpius who care a great deal about each other."

"Right." Harry tenses. The word 'rebound' has left him feeling like he was slapped in the face, hard. "I see."

"Hey," Draco whispers.

Harry mumbles something incomprehensible.

"Kindly turn around, so I can look at you." The words are spoken softly, but carry an unmistakable desperation.

Harry steps out of the embrace and with his eyes wide and full of doubt, turns to face his partner.

Draco takes Harry's hand. "Would you care to know what I told her in response?"

"I-I suppose so."

"First I said that you're certainly not on the rebound, and then I told her what happened between us during the war."

Harry's eyes widen. "D-During the-the war?"

"Yes, I told her about our brief involvement back then."

Harry inhales sharply. "And what did she have to say to that?"

Draco smirks. "Surprisingly enough—or not, as the case may be. This is my mother we're talking about, after all—she already suspected something back then."

"W-What?" Harry stammers, growing more aghast by the second.

"She had noticed that I was gone quite often, especially at night, and one afternoon she saw you and I talking. We looked like we were—and I quote—'off in our own world'. So…"

"Oh bugger."

"It never occurred to her that we might have been lovers, however. More something along the lines of… unlikely allies?"

"Oh."

"Besides,"—Draco's smile turns nervous—"that's not the only thing I told her."

Harry is almost afraid to ask, but he feels that he must. "Er- what else did you say?"

"In a nutshell, that I have every intention…" Draco coughs awkwardly.

"Yes?"

"Of bonding with you once your divorce is official."

Harry's jaw drops. "B-Bonding with me?"

"Yes," Draco says quickly. "Unless you'd prefer a Muggle wedding instead, of course. Two men are allowed to marry now in Muggle England, you know… It's called a 'civil partnership', I believe, but in practice it boils down to the same thing as a Bonding Ceremony. Minus the Latin, I imagine, though you never know what to expect from Muggles."

Completely lost for words, Harry can only blink.

"So?" Draco asks uncertainly.

"What?" Harry manages.

"You would, wouldn't you?"

"What?" Harry says again, flabbergasted.

Draco grits his teeth, roughly pulls his hand away and strides to the other side of the room. "Honestly, Potter," he says, clenching his fists in frustration, "could you be any more thick about this?"

"Huh?" Frowning, Harry walks towards him. "What did I do? Why are you suddenly angry with me? I just don't—"

"Bloody hell!" Draco shakes his head. "You really don't get it, do you?"

"Get what?"

"Bonding? Marriage?"

Harry blinks. "Yeah?"

Draco's patience has finally run out. "Who got hold of a Time-Turner and turned you into a Hufflepuff, Potter? Would you or wouldn't you?"

Harry swallows. A belated realisation is written all over his flushed face.

_Finally,_ Draco decides with a slight sneer.

"A-Are you asking me to m-marry you, Draco?"

"Not officially. This isn't the sort of question you just casually throw out there, and I should at least get you a ring first, but yes, I was testing the waters to see how you felt about the idea. Thanks for finally catching on, you oblivious prat." Draco's smirk only partly masks his mounting uncertainty.

Harry smiles. "I'd…. er… I'd love to… bond or marry.... either or both, I don't care, but I do want this to be official, and forever; a proper commitment, like."

"Good. I'm glad we've got that sorted out"—he quirks an amused eyebrow—"at last."

Harry walks to where Draco is standing and places his hands on the man's slim hips. "You actually told your mum," he says, mostly to himself.

"So it would appear. Problem?"

Harry's arms snake around Draco's waist. He closes the remaining distance between them and kisses him—a long, lingering kiss that leaves both their breathing ragged. "No, it's just…"

"What?"

"I never thought—"

"Hm?"

"That you and I would ever decide to… you know… make plans like this… not after all that time."

"Likewise," Draco admits, "and yet… here we both are."

"Yeah." Harry rests his head in the crook of Draco's neck, inhaling the scent of almond shampoo, coffee and something else that's distinctly Draco. "Do you have anything planned this afternoon?"

"Not as such."

"Good." Harry slips his hands under the crispy white dress shirt, slowly caressing the soft skin he finds there.

Draco chuckles. "You're insatiable, Potter. You're going to wear me out before my time, you realise. You're going to wear us both out."

Rather than reply, Harry leans in for another thorough kiss.

"Keep this up, and you might want to cast a locking spell," Draco whispers, "unless you fancy the idea of one my parents walking in on us." He raises an eyebrow. "Knowing our luck, it'll probably be Father."

"Nice try at spoiling the mood, Malfoy. It's just unfortunate that I can't get enough of you."

Draco grins smugly. "Oh, 'unfortunate' isn't exactly the word I'd use."

Harry rolls his eyes. "Too much lip and far too many clothes, Draco."

He casts a thorough locking charm, followed by a muffling spell, and a few moments later the bed creaks, pleasurable moans and sighs fill the room, and temporarily the rest of the world doesn't matter.

 

******

 

Ginny pulls another Kleenex out of the almost empty box and dries her eyes.

Blaise is gone. She still can't believe he just walked out and left her like that, and the contents of the note that was delivered half an hour ago are even harder to swallow.

He needs time to 'think' and to 'put everything back into perspective', or so he claims, but it doesn't take a genius to work out what he really means.

This is the beginning of the end.

It wasn't their first row this month, this week…

Ginny lets out a resigned sigh. There have been so many—too many—harsh words spoken between them since their affair first became common knowledge.

It's a scary realisation when she considers it. They never used to argue before. They barely bickered.

But lately…

How could things have gone downhill so quickly?

Perhaps it's all her own fault. Maybe she nagged him too much. Maybe she should have made more of an effort to be cheerful, or perhaps this is—was?—simply the sort of romance that doesn't survive the harsh light of day. Reality tends to be quite unkind to hopes, dreams and the concept of 'happily ever after'.

She shakes her head. Maybe she's jumping the gun. Maybe he'll return to her in a few days. Maybe he'll realise that he truly loves her, can't imagine living without her, and…

_Oh, God. _ Her own naïveté almost makes her laugh.

She knows better, or she should.

Love dies after a while. The fire burns out slowly and amidst the smouldering ashes, only friendship and loyalty remain—that is, if you're lucky.

She wrings her hands as her mind drifts back to Harry.

If Blaise doesn't come back…

Perhaps it isn't too late yet to patch things up with her husband. The passion may be gone—dead and buried for years—but Harry does care for her deeply, and they have the children to think about as well, and it's not as though he has anyone else…

Perhaps she's being too pragmatic about this, but if Blaise doesn't return…

She has never been alone. She doesn't want to be alone. She doesn't know if coping on her own is something she'd even be capable of.

If only her mother were here….

 

******

 

Lily is her usual chatty self at dinner, and somewhere amidst a tidal wave of words, she manages to convince Lucius Malfoy to take her horse-riding the following day.

Smiling slightly, Narcissa follows the exchange before discreetly directing her attention to the other people seated around the table.

James, too, is watching his little sister with obvious amusement. If the young man is in any way bothered by his father's new relationship, he has yet to show it.

Draco and Harry, meanwhile, are eating their poached salmon in silence. At first glance, nothing out of the ordinary is going on between them, but to those in the know, the signs are plain to see. The occasional affectionate look passes across the table, and Harry's eyes light up every time Draco smiles at him.

Now that Narcissa has had a few hours to digest the news, she's mostly happy for her son. She's well aware that Draco's marriage wasn't what he would have chosen for himself. He only agreed to it out of a sense of duty, to fulfil that all-important need to produce an heir.

After all these years, she finally understands why he didn't put up a fight back then, but was willing to wed any woman his father chose for him. Who it was didn't matter because Draco wasn't planning on falling in love again. His heart was already taken, and by the same person with whom he's involved now.

And that last part is precisely what worries her about this union.

Harry Potter looks a lot better today than he did when they first went to fetch him, a world removed from the broken man he was. His eyes are alive again, and he no longer walks with his head down as though he's carrying the whole world on his shoulders.

But still…

As long as the Potter-Weasley divorce hasn't been officially finalised, nothing has been settled, nothing is certain, and Narcissa has to be prepared for any eventuality. It's no secret that Weasley women can be underhanded, downright nasty even, when they set their minds to it.

Then again, the same can be said for Malfoy women, and anyone born from the noble, ancient house of Black.

She briefly wonders how Sirius would have felt about Harry Potter marrying her son. She never knew the man that well, but perhaps he'd have been able to see the funny side.

Severus Snape, on the other hand…

She smiles inwardly as she imagines his reaction. He'd have been repulsed to begin with, but he'd have come around in the end. Draco meant the world to him.

At times like these, Narcissa realises just how much she misses their old friend.

A soft chuckle makes her look up at Albus and Scorpius. Albus picks a slice of baked potato off Scorpius' plate, accidentally dropping two peas to the floor in the process. Scorpius rolls his eyes playfully and mouths, "clumsy git."

Albus makes a face and reaches for another baked potato slice.

Narcissa smiles. Those two boys will be fine, whether they remain boyfriends or revert back to close friends eventually.

Harry and Draco, however, still have miles to go. It would be perfect if they got married and stayed at the Manor. Of course she realises that it's entirely possible that they'll decide to move out, but she would prefer they didn't. Unlike her husband, Narcissa has always longed for a large family and the Potter children are incredibly charming.

But she mustn't get too far ahead of herself. Harry's divorce needs to be settled before the real engagement can take place, and somewhere in between it all, someone will also have to break the news to Lucius—carefully.

Narcissa grits her teeth and decides that can wait until after the Easter Holidays.

From the looks of things, Lily should prove a nice distraction in the meantime.

 

******

 

A few yards from where Malfoy Manor borders the forest, countless birds stop twittering as a large black eagle descends, the flapping of its wings an ominous sound in otherwise silent surroundings.

Down on the ground, wings become arms, feathers vanish, and a tall man stands up, a triumphant smirk plastered on his face. It always pays to keep a few secrets, history has taught him that much, and the possible repercussions of being discovered as an unregistered Animagus are nothing compared to the many advantages.

He has finally found what he was looking for, and it's even better than he'd hoped. Draco Malfoy is a fool, a fool who's about to have his little love nest exposed. And as for Harry Potter… Whatever will the wizarding world think of their Golden Boy now?

Satisfied, the man nods to himself. Time to get even. No one messes with Blaise Zabini and gets away unscathed.


	26. Chapter 26

Ginny sighs deeply as she lights another cigarette. She doesn't expect Blaise to return tonight. He probably isn't done 'thinking' yet.

She shakes her head and wonders whether he'll actually be so gracious as to dump her in person. Or will he just have his secretary send her an Owl instead?

_Oh, Merlin!_ Whenever did she become this bitter?

A knock at the front door has her rising from the sofa. Reluctantly, she goes to open up and finds Blaise standing on the doorstep. He's smiling widely.

"Hello," she mutters, a strong feeling of hesitation overcoming her. She wants to kiss him, but something about the look in his eyes holds her back.

"Ginny," he says, leans forward to peck her on the lips, and steps into the hallway. "I believe I may have found the solution to all our problems."

He shuts the door behind him.

Frowning, she watches how he pulls something from his robe pocket and Unshrinks it.

"Is that a Pensieve?"

He nods slowly. "That's right. You won't believe your eyes when you see this. You might want to sit down first, though…"

With a heavy heart, she follows him to the living room.

 

******

 

Unable to take any more, she turns her gaze away, and sinks deeper into the sofa.

"I told you you'd want to sit down to watch this," Blaise says. He sounds smug enough to hex, but she isn't paying all that much attention to him.

Her head is spinning. After all, it's not every day she sees her estranged husband in bed with another man, and certainly not with Draco Malfoy, someone he supposedly hates or at the very least resents for things that occurred many years ago, things he cannot forget, much less forgive.

Or so she thought….

The present evidence suggests something entirely different, and what's even more disturbing is that whatever's going on between Harry and Malfoy isn't merely physical. Ginny couldn't hear what they were saying to each other—the little of it that there was—but she did notice the "I love you" slip past Harry's lips quite clearly, with Malfoy soon echoing the sentiment.

It's almost too much to take in. How could this have happened so quickly?

Or wasn't it such an abrupt development as it seems?

Ginny takes a deep, steadying breath. Countless memories are running through her mind, like small fragments assaulting her from all sides, soaring to meet in the middle to create a decidedly unsettling picture; unsettling but crystal clear.

There are so many things she never realised before, was too scared to face and too stubborn to come to terms with.

She remembers Harry's seventeenth birthday. She went to visit him that afternoon, her mind set on seduction. She was willing to go all the way.

He turned her down, however. Not in so many words. It looked more as though he didn't understand what she wanted, didn't grasp what she was offering, while she, for her part, was too shy to just come out and say it.

_"Make love to me, Harry."_

She still can't decide how he would have reacted. Disinterested? Horrified? Perhaps it's just as well she'll never know.

Later that day, she saw him sitting outside on a bench with Draco Malfoy next to him—close to him—talking. She gathered at the time that their conversation had something to do with the ongoing war, the final battle that would be upon them soon, but in hindsight, they were too relaxed, entirely at ease with one another, almost like… lovers. Is that what they were, even back then?

Other events flash through her mind.

After Voldemort's defeat, Harry's first priority had been to rush into the castle. She never understood why, but now she starts to wonder: did he go and check on Malfoy before he bothered with anyone else?

Then there was the night of the big victory celebrations, too. Harry left early, claimed he was tired, had had enough of all the fuss. He'd always hated being at the centre of attention, so she never questioned the validity of that statement.

Not until in this very moment.

Ron and Hermione's words ring in her ears, fresh in her memory as though they were spoken only yesterday.

_"Lucius and Narcissa look a right pair of tits sitting there, don't they?"_

_"Oh honestly, Ronald! Must you be so crude?"_

_A grin follows, but not even a hint of an apology. "And it seems their beloved son has already buggered off; he's probably crying in a pint somewhere. No, on second thought, make that a jug of hot cocoa."_

Funny, how it all makes sense, even Harry's bout of depression not long after the war. Everyone was convinced he was dealing with the aftermath, was mourning the many casualties. Now it occurs to Ginny that his breakdown coincided with the Malfoys' departure to… France, wasn't it?

He wasn't in mourning at all.

He was just lovesick, pining after Draco _bloody_ Malfoy.

_Good grief_, and to think how sorry she felt for him!

They all did.

Ginny grits her teeth. Yes, in light of what she found out today, even his reaction to Albus' first letter home from Hogwarts can easily be explained, and it had nothing whatsoever to do with the House the boy had been Sorted into.

Harry visibly paled when Ginny read aloud: "I made a new friend on the train: Scorpius Malfoy. I know you and his dad never got on, but he's all right, I promise. We're dorm mates, too. We both got into Slytherin."

A few months later, at Easter Hols, Draco Malfoy refused to let Albus visit Scorpius at the Manor, and he also put his foot down when Scorpius suggested going to visit the Potters instead. Despite Albus' and even Ginny's pleas, Harry never intervened. Not then, and not on later occasions, either. It soon became plainly obvious that Harry wanted to avoid a confrontation with Draco at all costs.

Ginny almost laughs. Of course he did. He was still hung up on the bastard.

_Oh God._ What a waste, what a stupid waste! All these years, she'd been in love with a storybook hero, a fantasy, while Harry… Harry had been in love with Draco Malfoy.

She can't but wonder why he married her. Because that's what everyone expected to happen after the war? Because it was the noble thing to do, given her pregnancy and subsequent miscarriage?

She'd laugh 'till she cried if she weren't feeling so bitter and numb. The truth was right there in front of her the whole time, but she was too naïve, too blind and besotted to see it. She wanted Harry and she'd finally—finally—have him. Nothing else mattered.

Meanwhile, Blaise rants on. He's been ranting non-stop, but she scarcely noticed.

"So for our next course of action, Ginny, we'll be sending my Pensieve to your Arguer. This new information should cast a whole new light on the situation, don't you agree? You may be guilty of adultery, but clearly, so is Potter." He sneers. "And who's to tell how long his little indiscretion has already been going on for? I'd wager that the Wizengamot, once they get ahold of this, will do what is generally done in such cases: custody will be awarded to the mother." He nods to himself. "Of course, not before long, the press will find out, and Potter's reputation will be in tatters. The public will likely side with you. After all, if he really preferred the company of men all these years, how could he possibly have made you happy? The world will finally see him for the phoney he is."

"No, " she mumbles, but Blaise is too caught up in his monologue to listen.

"Potter can have his lover, assuming their… whatever-it-is survives the fallout of the custody battle, but the kids will be yours. Correction: they will be ours, and they'll have everything their hearts desire. Albus and Lily don't need to stay at Hogwarts, either. An education at Durmstrang or in Lily's case, Beauxbatons would be far superior. We could even have them tutored at home if you'd prefer, then they'd be with you all year round. You'd never have to miss them, not for a single day."

"No," Ginny repeats, louder this time. "We can't do that to Harry."

Blaise blinks. Stunned, he shuts up for the first time since he triumphantly showed her the contents of the Pensieve. "What did you just say?"

"I don't want to ruin Harry," she says, her voice trembling. "He and I… We've both made some, well, misguided decisions and terrible mistakes, but he's still the father of my children, and he's been good to me… for the most part. Loyal."

Blaise blinks again. "You're joking, aren't you? Loyal? After what you've just found out? After the way he's clearly treated you like… what's the term… his beard? How do you know he hasn't been seeing Malfoy behind your back for years? Hell, how do you know he hasn't been shagging him on the side all along?"

She can't deny that she's been thinking along the same lines herself, but nevertheless she shakes her head. "I can't do this to him, or to our kids. If he wants… if he prefers Malfoy… I suppose…" She sighs. "I miss my kids, but they'd hate me if I disgraced their dad. If they don't already hate me now…"

Blaise leaps up. "Harry Potter, my dear, disgraced himself. You didn't make him leap into bed with Malfoy, did you? Besides, how do you suppose your children will feel when they learn that their father goes around bedding blokes and has probably been lying to their mother, cheating on her, for years?"

"I don't think Harry ever meant to hurt me," Ginny whispers. "He wouldn't. He's not like that. Things just… happened."

"Just happened?" he snaps. "Honestly. Things like this do not 'just happen', Ginevra. Why are you even defending the bastard anyway? You have me now. I could give you everything. You'd be happy, rich, travel the world just as you would have done if you hadn't given up your Quidditch career…. I'd even accept Potter's children! And in case you've failed to notice, I'm hardly the fathering type. For you, however, I'd be willing to make an exception. Yet, you're still sticking up for him, for your spineless, cheating husband who made you feel miserable, unworthy and unloved for years!"

Ginny's eyes widen. Her hands fly to her throat, as if to force down the hard lump that has formed there. For a few seconds, she can do nothing but stare at Blaise in bewilderment, almost as though she's seeing him for the first time and it's not a pretty sight.

"T-This isn't just about you," she manages at last.

"No," he says. "This is about us. What I'm prepared to do for us. You'll get everything you want, everything you deserve, and as for Potter… He'll get what's coming to him. He's had this coming for years."

Ginny swallows hard. This goes beyond the fight Blaise had at Malfoy Manor. Blaise has other gripes with Harry. This, too, is probably something she should have realised sooner, but this side of Blaise Zabini is one she has never seen before. Then again, how well does she know him, really? Their relationship so far hasn't exactly been based on in-depth conversations.

"What has Harry ever done to you?" she asks, part of her dreading the answer.

"Aside from ruin your self confidence if not your life?" He shakes his head. "Let's see… He spent years prancing around Hogwarts like he owned the damned place. He broke every school rule countless times, without any kind of reprimand. Quite the opposite. His insubordination frequently earned him Housepoints, and in one case even landed him a place on the Gryffindor Quidditch team at eleven years old!"

"Um, that's not quite what—" she protests, but Blaise soldiers on.

"Worst of all, though, he had your attention."

Ginny's eyes widen. "My attention?"

"At school, you wouldn't as much as look at anyone but Potter, unless you wanted to make him jealous. Of course I wasn't prepared to allow myself to be used like say, that Dean Thomas was, so I never indicated any interest. A man still has his pride, after all."

Ginny can only gape.

"While you were besotted with your pathetic little… hero, I was hoping one day you might come to your senses." He shakes his head. "Whatever. I suppose it doesn't matter now as you're still defending the bastard. Perhaps I should have expected as much."

Ginny's stomach plummets. Reality crashes down on her like a tonne of bricks. This is the day she loses everything, or rather, the day she learns she never had anything in the first place. Not Harry, not how it mattered, and now Blaise… Too little, too late.

She remains silent, just stares at him, bracing herself for the inevitable.

"This isn't going to work, is it?" he mutters, no longer sounding angry, merely bitter and defeated. "You and me?"

She bites her lip. "I do love you," she says.

"But it's not quite enough though, is it? Potter will always be there; whether he's in the foreground or standing in the sidelines, he'll always be looming over us."

"We have three kids together, Blaise. I-I can't change that."

He smiles wryly.

"I'm sorry. Maybe twenty or thirty years ago, if we'd…" She chokes back a sob. "I'm sorry."

"I'll be taking my leave, then." He rises from the sofa, walks into the hallway and hurries out of the house, carrying none of the bravado he arrived with.

Ginny sighs. Tears are coming, but not just yet. Her gaze rests on the Pensieve standing in front of her. It holds many secrets and even more unspoken lies. With a shaky hand she reaches for her wand.

The Pensieve shatters into a million pieces. The sight is oddly symbolic. The silence that follows is deafening.


	27. Chapter 27

Smiling, Harry steps onto Platform 9 3/4.

The remainder of Easter Hols flew by without a hitch. With each passing day, he started feeling a lot better, partly thanks to the potion Hermione sent, but no doubt Draco's presence made a big difference, too.

Harry's smile widens as he realises that it's quite pleasant to drop the kids off like this, together with Draco. It's a sign of things to come, a glimpse of what their life will be like… _later._

Harry reaches out, but just in time stops himself from grabbing Draco's hand. _Oh dear._ What was he even thinking? They have to be extremely discreet; they can't let anyone find out how they feel about each other, not until the divorce is final.

At least Harry is safe in the knowledge that no one would ever suspect what's going on. Harry Potter in love with Draco Malfoy? The very concept is unthinkable, too ludicrous for words.

Just as well. There's a lot at stake.

"Oh, look! The train's already here!" Albus says, excited about returning to Hogwarts. "Bye, Dad. Bye, Mr Malfoy. Come on, Scorpy. Let's go! We have to make sure we get a good compartment."

Scorpius rolls his eyes; _not that blasted nickname again_. "Goodbye Father," he says, followed by: "See you in June, Mr Potter."

Harry nods and soon finds himself with two arms full of Lily. "I'll miss you loads, Daddy. Take care." She releases him, turns to Draco, and after a brief moment's hesitation, says softly, "Please look after him, Mr Malfoy."

Draco blinks. As far as he knows, the little girl is unaware of how close he and Harry are, but then children sometimes possess a talent for being uncannily observant.

"Don't worry, Miss Potter," he says, the formal way in which he addresses her earning him a wide grin. "Your father will be just fine. I'll see to that."

"Thank you," she says and throws her arms around him.

Harry swallows the sudden lump in his throat. It's amazing how his children have taken to Draco; even James, who shakes the man's hand and politely thanks him for his hospitality.

With a small smile on his face, Harry watches the four youngsters board the train.

"Right, then," Draco says, turning to Harry who's waving at Hermione Granger. Draco frowns when he spots George Weasley accompanying her. He wonders what that's all about, but before he can ponder on any possible theories, something compels him to look to his left.

A slim figure is striding towards them.

Draco's heart leaps up into his throat. He can't tell whether it's merely a trick of the light, but the steam from the train seems to be swirling around her ominously, making Ginny Weasley resemble every bit an avenging spirit.

When she comes closer, Draco notices a few other things as well: her usually lively eyes appear hollow and have big dark circles underneath them, there are grey roots in her usually immaculate red hair and she looks at least ten years her senior. She's also smoking like an over-boiling cauldron, taking one hasty puff after another from some Muggle cigarette.

Draco frowns. This doesn't bode well.

"Harry," Ginny says, refusing to even acknowledge Draco's presence—not that he's surprised, much less offended. "Can we talk?"

Harry turns around, his expression one of complete shock. "S-Sure," he stammers.

This time, Ginny does look at Draco, though it's more of a glare. "In private?"

Hesitation flickers across Harry's face, but only for a split second. "Of course," he says, and with a brief nod at Draco, he follows Ginny.

Unsure what to expect, Draco watches them head in the direction of the exit. The bad feeling he experienced a few moments ago increases tenfold.

Everything about Ginevra's attitude suggested that she was on a mission. It was also particularly odd—and downright unsettling—how she didn't go and say 'hello' to her children, not even to Lily whom she supposedly misses so much. Instead, she went straight for Harry…

Draco sighs deeply and decides to stick around and wait.

Two hours later, he's still standing on the platform, all by himself. The other parents and guardians have long since departed.

He tries to ignore the strange looks from the railway staff. A cleaning lady—a squib, he assumes—finally comes up to him and asks, "Are you all right, dear? Are you certain that this is where you need to be?"

He nods and smiles, "Yes, thank you, Madam," but the pity so plainly reflected on her face is more than his wounded pride can bear.

He leaves the station and Apparates back to the Manor.

That morning, he was grateful that his parents had left for their London penthouse because this would allow him plenty of private quality time with Harry.

He's still relieved now, albeit for entirely different reasons.

Letting out a frustrated growl, he slams his fist against the wall.

Perhaps this was all too good to be true. He knows, deep down, that he cannot win against a Weasley. He has known as much ever since first year, when Harry preferred a friendship with Ronald to one with him.

Not to mention that Ginevra is the mother of Harry's children, and for Harry, family will always come first.

_Ruddy Weasleys; damn them all!_

Draco stomps towards the liquor cabinet and pulls it open with conviction. Perhaps this isn't the most constructive way of dealing with this matter, but he doesn't want to think too much before Harry returns.

_If_ Harry returns….

Draco shakes his head and uncorks a bottle of Firewhiskey, already aware that it's only the first of many.

 

 

*****

 

 

"This isn't fair," Hermione declares loudly, her hands on her hips and her expression murderous. She realises she may very well look like a petulant child to him in this very moment, but _honestly_, how could he do this? More to the point, why would he? Is it really such a great hardship for him to allow another person a second chance at happiness?

"As I also said to Mr Malfoy recently, Ms Granger," Snape replies, unfazed. "Life isn't fair. Surely you too must be aware of this by now?"

Hermione grits her teeth; no, she isn't having any of this nonsense. "George came all the way here today," she continues. "I made him wait. I especially went back to fetch him when school reopened for the new term. I did just as you requested." She shakes her head. "In hindsight, I can't understand how I actually believed you when you insisted that certain preparations needed to be made before he arrived, to avoid the occurrence of certain—what was the term again? Ah yes: magical shifts. You were merely stalling, were you not? Worse, still… There is no such thing as a 'magical shift', is there? You just don't want George and Fred to be reunited with one another. How could you be so… so… bitter and spiteful?"

Snape sneers. "Once a Gryffindor, always a Gryffindor; so blindsided by their good intentions, they're completely incapable of seeing the big picture."

Hermione meets his gaze head-on. "And what, Sir, would you say is the big picture of this particular case?"

"People die, Ms Granger, and their loved ones move on. That's how life is supposed to go. Nothing good would come of George Weasley's continued presence here. Even if he did accept the career opportunity the Headmistress is so naïvely offering him, there is nothing desirable about an existence between these four walls, and in order to remain with his late twin brother, he would need to stay here." Snape pauses meaningfully. "Hogwarts ghosts cannot leave Hogwarts Grounds, as you have certainly read in one of those books you always used to carry around with you when you were still a student here."

Hermione crosses her arms. "Firstly, isn't it up to George to decide what type of existence he considers worthwhile? From what I can tell, he already has. And secondly, it sounds to me as though you might be projecting your own frustration at being cooped up here on him."

Snape raises an unimpressed eyebrow. "I'm quite content being 'cooped up', as you so eloquently put it, Ms Granger. But whether George Weasley would also be satisfied with this type of life, I highly doubt it. He's still young by wizarding standards; he still has many decades ahead of him…"

Hermione shakes her head again. "Yes, and they're his years, Professor; his to spend in the manner he chooses. Furthermore, he will not be leaving before he is reunited with Fred, no matter how long it takes, or how many people try to stand in his way… And frankly, if you believe even for one second that your mule-headedness will outweigh his determination, I suggest you think again."

With that, she sweeps out of the room, throwing the door shut behind her.

Snape watches her go, and lets out a deep sigh. Hermione Granger may be older now, but she's no less irritating or exhausting for it. She still manages to get under his skin, too, albeit it also in a different and rather more disturbing manner than she used to.

 

 

*****

 

 

Using the key Draco gave him a week ago, Harry lets himself into the Manor.

An elf rushes forward to take his cloak. "Evening, Master Potter," the creature says. "Master Potter be needing anything?"

Harry has long given up trying to convince the Malfoy elves to call him by his first name. They're all about tradition and protocol, and stubbornly refuse, so he only shakes his head. He isn't hungry or thirsty, he just needs to talk to Draco, speak to him about, well, plenty of things.

He takes a deep breath. A glance at his watch reveals that it's already 3 a.m. _Oh. Bugger._

At least Narcissa and Lucius aren't home; in case things were to get intense…

"Wishing Master Potter goodnight," the elf says, and bows respectfully.

"Er, hang on," Harry says quickly. "Stampy, isn't it?"

The elf nods.

"Would you happen to know where Draco is?"

"Yes, Master Potter. He gone to his room. Was hours ago."

"All right. Thank you. Good night."

"Good night, Master Potter." Another nod, and with a small pop, the elf is gone.

Harry takes a deep breath before trotting up the stairs. He can't believe how late it is, how long it took Ginny to finally let him leave.

Harry shivers. What a terrible mess. He feels bad about accompanying her to Grimmauld Place and even worse for staying for hours, but he could hardly walk away while she was mid-breakdown.

When he thinks about it, Harry realises that he shouldn't be too surprised at this turn of events, and part of him isn't. Even at school, Zabini already had a reputation of fluttering from one fling to another.

Harry is somewhat baffled, however, that the man could harbour such a strong hatred towards him. The two of them never clashed at Hogwarts. In fact, they barely even spoke, so why would Zabini feel this way?

Still, whatever the reason, Harry considers himself to be partly responsible for the heartache Ginny is now going through.

He smiles wryly as he can practically hear Draco's words resounding in his head.

_"You're just too damned noble for your own good, Potter."_

Harry knocks softly at Draco's bedroom door. When no response is forthcoming, he enters carefully, quietly flicking on the light.

His breath hitches at the sight that greets him. Draco lies sprawled on his stomach on the bed. A half-empty bottle of Firewhiskey is tipped over on the bedside table, its remaining contents slowly trickling onto the parquet floor.

_Draco has been drinking? Since when does he…?_

Harry swallows hard, a strong feeling of guilt rushing through him. He sits down on the bed, reaches out, places a hand on Draco's shoulder and shakes him gently.

After a minute or so, Draco turns his head and squints open his eyes; they're red-rimmed and swollen. He doesn't look drunk, merely tired and defeated.

"Hey," Harry whispers, and swallows again. "Are you all right?"

Draco nods, unconvincingly.

"If you're up to it, er, I think we need to talk."

Gingerly, Draco moves to sit. "Yes," he answers with a wan smile. "That we do, I suppose."

"D-Do you need a Hangover Potion or some coffee or something first?"

Draco shakes his head. "I passed out before I had the chance to get even halfway drunk. Seems I can't manage to get plastered anymore; I guess you were right: we _are_ getting old."

Harry bites his lip.

"So." Draco crosses his arms. "Go on. Spill the beans."

"Right. Ginny…" Harry takes a deep breath. "She broke up with Zabini."

Draco sneers. "You mean to say: he dumped her?"

"Yeah."

"I see."

Harry opens his mouth again, but Draco doesn't let him continue.

"So, now I suppose you pack your bags and sod off back to her, don't you? Well, go on then. No, on second thought, don't bother with any luggage; I'll ask the elves to send you your stuff in the morning."

Harry blinks. He wasn't expecting a pleasant reaction, but he's still taken aback by this outburst. "No," he says softly.

Draco frowns. "What? No? Would you rather I burn it, Potter?"

"No, Malfoy," Harry says, annoyed—_Merlin_, shouldn't they be past this crap by now? "You don't have to pack my stuff or burn it. I'm not—" He takes a deep breath. "I'm not going back to Ginny."

Draco's jaw drops. Suddenly, he looks wide-awake. "Y-You're not?"

Harry shakes his head.

"Didn't she ask you to?"

Harry shakes his head again. "She asked me to, all right."

Draco just stares, so Harry continues: "She pleaded with me for hours on end, tried everything she could think of, from crying and screaming to… to…." His face flushes.

"Yes?"

"She… um… pretty much threw herself at me."

"She threw herself at you?"

Harry nods slowly, fervently hoping Draco won't pry for the details. It was embarrassing and extremely painful to see her so desperate, and the worst of it, if it hadn't been for Draco, he might have given her what she wanted, if only for the kids' sakes.

Draco shakes his head. "The woman you weren't interested in touching for months tried to seduce you… That's almost comical."

"No," Harry mutters. "It really isn't."

Draco remains silent. He reaches out and takes Harry's hand. There's more he wants to ask, and he should probably apologise for his outburst as well. Something about Ginny Weasley will probably always make him see red—in more ways than one—but still, that's hardly an excuse.

Harry links their fingers.

"So," Draco ventures carefully. "What happened after that?"

"She broke down, said she misses the kids, especially Lily. She also said she won't know what to do with herself, what to live off… She has no qualifications, you know…"

"I'm sure she could get some," Draco points out dryly.

Harry decides not to take the bait. "We ended up discussing the divorce."

"Please tell me you intend to go through with it…"

"Yes," Harry says quickly, the frantic note in Draco's voice not escaping him. "Yes, of course. But there are some complications…"

"Oh?" Draco tries to yank his hand away, but Harry pulls it back.

"Since Zabini is out of the picture, so is that Arguer he hired. Ginny received an Owl from the man, informing her that his services had been terminated, so unless Ginny were to foot the bill herself…"

Draco sneers. "Let me guess: she can't afford the legal fees?"

"No."

"You didn't offer to pay, did you, Potter?"

"No! Of course not. I'm not going to sponsor her to take me to the cleaners. How daft do you suppose I am?"

Draco smiles. "I think you'd prefer I didn't answer that." He pulls his hand away and places it in his lap, on top of his other.

"We discussed the terms of an amicable separation. Heimdall will be drawing up the documents. She gets to keep Grimmauld Place and I'll also be paying her a monthly allowance."

Draco blinks. "She… _what?! _ Are you insane?!"

"Please let me finish, Draco. Firstly, things were headed that way anyhow, and secondly, what I'm getting in return is far better."

Draco frowns. "Oh?"

Harry nods. "I'll have full custody of the children. Of course she'll be allowed to visit them whenever she wants, but they'll all be living with me."

"Correction," Draco says, smiling. "They'll be living with _us_. Still, are you quite sure about Grimmauld Place, though? It's been your home for so long, and you inherited it from Black. It's pretty much all you have left of the man."

"I couldn't live there anymore," Harry says. "To be honest, I never liked the place much to begin with." He shrugs. "And Ginny will be needing somewhere to stay. She can hardly go back to The Burrow, can she?" He is silent for a moment, then continues: "This just seemed to be the best solution for all parties involved. I don't want some nasty court battle. It would be devastating, especially for the kids." He smiles without humour. "Did you know what Zabini was planning to do?"

Draco shakes his head. How could he know?

"Not long before he and Ginny split up…"

"Before he dumped her, you mean," Draco says dryly.

Harry rolls his eyes and gives Draco a playful swat on the knee, relieved that the mood has lightened again. "All right, before he dumped her, he managed to spy on us somehow…."

"Spy on us?" Draco parrots, not understanding

"Yes. Here at the Manor. "

"What? How could he even? He was bluffing, surely?"

"No," Harry mutters. "He wasn't bluffing. He'd made a Pensieve."

Draco swallows thickly. "A Pensieve." He takes a deep breath, and asks, although he suspects he already knows the answer. "Of what?"

"You and me," Harry mumbles, "in bed together."

Draco leaps up and starts to pace the room. "That makes no sense. He had a Pensieve? Where is it then? What's he planning to do with it?" He clenches his fists, struggling to hang on to what little calm he still possesses. "He's bluffing, Potter. He has to be bluffing. The Manor's wards—"

"He's not bluffing, Draco," Harry says. "Ginny saw it and, thankfully, had the good sense to destroy it."

Draco freezes where he stands. "Ginevra Weasley saw you and me in bed together?"

Harry nods.

"And she still tried to seduce you?"

Harry nods again. "I-I suppose she wanted to prove to me that I still felt something for her, that we could make it work. She even offered—" He sighs deeply.

"What, Potter?" Draco crosses the distance between them and sits back down on the bed. "What did she offer you?"

"That I could keep on seeing you, but she and I would remain married 'for the kids'. I'd just be discreet about"—he gestures between them—"us."

"What?" Draco yells, causing Harry to flinch. "I'm no one's dirty little secret, Potter. Not anymore. If you presume for just one minute that I would—"

"I don't," Harry cuts him off. "I don't. I said I wouldn't do that, _can't_ do that. I told her…" Harry hesitates. "I told her I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and I…. I intend to do that. I do."

Draco exhales slowly. He feels as though a huge load has been lifted off his shoulders, although at the same time he can't help the clenching in his stomach at the thought of Zabini spying on his intimate moments with Harry and worse, Ginevra seeing. He's no prude by any means, but _damn it_, such things are meant to be private. Imagine those images being shown at the Wizengamot.

Come to think of it, Zabini could probably still make a new Pensieve and share it with the press, just for the hell of it.

Draco shudders at the thought.

"Anyway," Harry says, breaking the tense silence. "There's something else…"

"What?" Draco whispers.

"I owe you an apology. I didn't mean to put you through—I didn't mean to worry you by leaving the station with her. Though you really should trust me by now…"

"Trust you." Draco sneers. "You're loyal to a fault, Potter, and perpetually partial to Weasleys. What was I supposed to think?"

"Yeah," Harry says firmly. "I am loyal, but those loyalties lie with you now, and with my kids."

Draco's eyes widen, and then he smiles. Something is different about Harry. The man is brimming with confidence and determination even after a day like today, and Draco is quite certain this isn't just because of the potions.

"I'll keep that in mind, Potter," he says, reaches out and ruffles Harry's hair.

It's been a harrowing day for both of them, and Draco has a strong suspicion that's he's not quite done with Zabini yet; that man's like a dog with a bone when he sets his mind to something, so Draco will need to intervene. Somehow.

_First thing tomorrow,_ he tells himself.

"Do you want to get some sleep, Harry?"

"Later," Harry says. "First, I'm going to write Heimdall, outline everything Ginny and I spoke about, while it's still fresh in my mind." He rises from the bed.

"Need any help?"

Harry considers that for a moment, and then nods slowly. "Yeah, you're much better with words than I am."

"Indeed." Draco moves to stand, too. "Very well, then. Lead the way."

Together, they walk out of the room, and don't return before the first rays of morning sunshine peek through the thick curtains.


	28. Chapter 28

"Of course!" Draco exclaims, bolting upright in bed. "An Animagus!"

From his spot on the pillow, Harry blinks. "W-Huh?" he mumbles groggily. "W-What's happening?"

"Zabini is an Animagus," Draco says. "That's the only explanation that fits. The Manor Wards are meant to keep out humans; they don't have any effect on animals, including animals that are really wizards in disguise."

Harry reaches for his glasses and sits upright, too. "An Animagus," he says, frowning. "Really? I wonder what kind…"

Draco gets up and begins to pace the room, thinking out loud: "Something that can look through a high window. From up a tree maybe? Hm, a squirrel's sight isn't too brilliant compared to a human's, bees and other insects are too complicated, their kind of vision wouldn't translate well to a Pensieve. A cat? No, mother's cats would have noticed it and most likely got into a massive brawl, drawing our attention. A bird? Yes." He nods to himself. "That has to be it. A rare, exotic one, most likely, knowing Zabini. I doubt his oversized ego would allow him to be something as common as a sparrow."

Harry smiles.

"I'm willing to bet," Draco continues, "that he never registered his animal form with the Ministry. This little skill was meant to be a secret from the start, otherwise he would have bragged about it at some point. He was always bragging about the daftest things, even at Hogwarts. Incredibly annoying, particularly if you had the misfortune of sharing a dorm with the little shite."

It's on the tip of Harry's tongue to say _'Bragging, huh? That's something the two of you had in common, then,'_ but this is too serious a matter to joke about. If Zabini truly is dead set on revenge, he might cause a lot of damage.

"Stampy!"

Within seconds, the elf appears. "Yes, Master!" The creature's already enormous eyes grow even bigger when it notices the man lying in Draco's bed. "G-Good morning also to Master Harry Potter."

Harry smiles, feeling somewhat awkward. He hopes elves don't blab, or at least that this one won't; Dobby was never much good at keeping secrets.

"Stampy," Draco says. "I have a little assignment for you if you think you're up to it."

The elf nods. "Stampy happy to help always."

"I need you to go outside and to look for a feather."

"A feather?"

"Yes, that's right, but not just any feather. A special one, one that looks a little out of place, unusual…"

The elf nods slowly. "Special feather."

"I'm guessing," Draco continues, "that it would be silver or black or a combination of both, but that's merely a guess, though. If it looks like it doesn't belong in our gardens, bring it in and show it to me."

"Yes, Sir. Stampy do it! Right now!" With that, the elf disappears again.

Harry frowns. "Are you sure you'll find proof, though? What if you don't?"

Draco shrugs. "I'll improvise. I've bluffed my way out of tighter spots if you recall."

Harry nods slowly—Malfoys always manage to weasel their way out of trouble; it's practically tradition, one of the unwritten rules of the universe—and then asks, "And what if you're right and there is something down there?"

"Ah." Draco grins smugly. "In that case, Blaise will receive an unexpected Firecall and I'll make him a lovely proposition: he tells on us, we tell on him. It's quite simple. The penalties for being an unregistered Animagus are quite severe, as you certainly know. He might even be facing some time in Azkaban. Ha! Imagine that! He wouldn't last a day there."

"We have to be sure about the um… being unregistered thing, though," Harry says. "If you're mistaken, this whole thing will backfire; we have to be one hundred percent certain before we proceed."

Draco waves a dismissive had. "Finding that out will be a piece of cake, Potter."

Harry frowns. "No. I can't involve the Auror department; that sort of thing isn't part of my job description… Even if I weren't taking a sabbatical right now, they'd still ask lots of questions, expect me to fill out a bunch of forms, get special permission… Just because I'm Harry Potter doesn't mean—"

Draco rolls his eyes. "Potter, put a sock in it, would you? I wasn't talking about your precious Auror office. I wasn't asking or expecting you to get involved."

Harry blinks, confused. "N-No?"

"No. There's a far easier and much more discreet way of consulting those records." Draco pauses for effect, then adds, "Oh dear. Have you forgotten who my father is?"

"Oh." Harry grins. _Of course._ If anyone has unrestricted access to all legal records, it would be the Minister of magic himself.

"So, Potter, as soon as Stampy's back, with or without a feather, I'm off to London."

"Er, shouldn't you have breakfast first?"

Draco shakes his head. "No time to waste. I'll just have a quick shower before I Portkey to the Ministry building, and when I return, you and I can have brunch together. You need to get some more rest anyway, Harry. It's only eight, far too early for you to be up and about, especially after so little sleep."

"I feel fine!" Harry protests.

"Be that as it may, but you're still taking plenty of potions, and with good reason, so rest it is. We wouldn't want a relapse, would we?"

Harry rolls his eyes and lets out an exasperated, "No, mother," but truth be told, he doesn't mind. Of course, if it were anyone else fussing over him like this, he'd be more than a little apprehensive and terribly embarrassed to boot, but since it's Draco, he can only feel touched and cared for, and he's quite certain as well that he's one of very few people Draco would ever bother bestowing this kind of attention on.

So Harry places his glasses on the bedside table and sinks back against the pillows, a smile on his face as his gaze follows Draco's blurry silhouette to the en-suite bathroom.

Harry closes his eyes and within moments, is sound asleep again, never noticing the kiss Draco presses against his forehead before leaving with three large pitch-black feathers clutched tightly in his right hand.

 

 

*****

 

 

Hermione takes a deep breath before adding the drop of blood to the simmering cauldron; George's blood.

She has never tried this spell before. She barely has any experience working with blood magic at all, but she did follow the ancient tome's instructions to the letter, so this should do it.

_Yes, she should be seeing some results right about…_

Barely has that thought formed in her head when a thick cloud of grey fog appears next to the cauldron. At the centre of this cloud, a freckled face quickly shifts into focus.

"F-Fred?" George Weasley stammers, rising from his chair at the far end of the room, his eyes filling with tears.

"George?" the ghost whispers, almost completely visible now. "Is that you? By Merlin, Granger, you actually did it!"

Hermione nods slowly, her bottom lip trembling.

George walks towards his brother and their long overdue reunion would undoubtedly have been a touching occasion were it not for Severus Snape bolting through the door.

"Ms Granger," he bellows, his expression growing increasingly venomous as his gaze wanders from the cauldron to Fred and back again. "Would you be so kind as to explain, what is the meaning of this? What in the blazes have you been doing in my lab, with my potion supplies?"

Taken aback, Hermione blinks. Her speechlessness doesn't last long, however.

"Technically, Sir," she replies, "seeing how I'm the Potions Professor now, this would be my lab…. and my supplies."

Snape shakes his head as his glare intensifies. _Sweet Salazar, the cheek of it! This insufferable, interfering woman!_

Then again, perhaps he should have expected as much. Once a meddling Gryffindor, always a meddling Gryffindor…

In theory, he could Obliviate both Weasleys now, make them forget any of this ever happened, but Granger would probably find a way around that, too. No. Worse. She has most likely already considered that eventuality and come up with a solution, just in case. _Damn it._

Hermione steals a glance at Fred and George. They seem rooted to the spot, unsure what to do next or even what to make of all this.

Hermione looks at Snape again. "Perhaps we should leave them to it?" she suggests in an almost businesslike manner. "I imagine they must have a lot to catch up on."

Snape raises an eyebrow. Does Granger truly expect he'll just stand by and let this go? Does she not realise what a large burden she has lumbered George Weasley with, a solitary existence between four castle walls? Not to mention, on a greater scale, what a dangerous precedent this might turn into if other people started entertaining similar ideas. No one needs Peeves' long-lost descendants wreaking havoc around the place, for starters.

"Professor?" Hermione says again.

Snape sighs. "Oh, very well. It would appear the damage has already been done anyway. But let it be known: I'm neither pleased nor impressed with what took place here today." He gives a dismissive wave in the general direction of the Weasley Twins, "Gentlemen," and strides out of the room, Hermione following closely behind.

"I hope you shan't be making a habit of this, Ms Granger, to specifically go against my wishes."

"No, Professor." Hermione smiles a little too sweetly. "Only when it's necessary."

Snape stops dead in his tracks and glares at her once more. Years ago, perhaps even days, she would certainly have been intimidated, withered under such a look. Now, however, she knows she has done the right thing and feels empowered by that knowledge.

"You realise," Snape continues, "that I could make things very difficult if I were so inclined. The spell you used, the kind of magic you decided to dabble in to make Fred Weasley appear despite my efforts to keep him hidden, is not exactly… shall we say… legal? I doubt whether the Ministry would be impressed if they were to be informed of this incident."

Hermione meets his gaze head on. "As you are, not too put to fine a point on it, Sir, _deceased_, I sincerely doubt you will be speaking to anyone about my… bending the rules, least of all to the Ministry of Magic. Besides," she adds, sounding a bit less smug, and suddenly quite determined to convince him, "this was the right thing to do. Neither of them was happy. This way, their life will regain meaning and purpose."

"Time will tell, Ms Granger," he says. "While I don't doubt the good intentions behind your actions, I still find them to be extremely misguided. George Weasley has a loving family back home, along with a thriving business he just gave out of his hands like it was nothing. I suspect that he'll discover soon enough that being confined to this castle isn't all it's cracked up to be. Of course, by then, it will already be too late to change his mind. He could hardly abandon his brother now, could he?"

Hermione frowns. She can't but wonder whether Snape is really talking about George whenever he mentions the unpleasantness of being stuck at Hogwarts. Or is he in fact referring to himself?

Hermione can't shake the distinct impression that it's the latter.

She doesn't know why she feels compelled to help him, perhaps because she has always held him in high regard. He was never particularly nice to her when she was his student, but looking back, his stubborn refusal to openly acknowledge her academic talents pushed her to work harder, to excel more than she would have done if she had already been 'good enough' according to his standards.

Besides, she realises that perhaps the two of them aren't so different in the end: let down by life, embittered, but not beaten, not by a long shot.

Still, as far as she can tell, Snape does seem quite lonely. He has never been what one might call a 'people person', rather the opposite, but he does need interaction. He thrives on being challenged.

Perhaps, she considers, they both do.

 

 

*****

 

 

"The Minister will see you now," the tall, immaculately dressed blonde secretary says. "I must remind you, however, that he has an appointment at ten sharp, one he absolutely cannot postpone." Everything about her tone and body language screams that the man standing before her may be the minister's son, but no special allowances will be made on his behalf regardless.

Draco nods. "I understand completely. Thank you. This won't take very long."

He straightens his shoulders before striding into the spacious office. He isn't very comfortable with this awkward matter, and he isn't really ready to tell Lucius about his relationship with Harry either, but the alternative would be far worse; who knows to which lengths Blaise might go to ruin them? Draco takes a deep breath.

"Good morning," Lucius says from his seat at the antique mahogany desk. "What brings you here, Draco? Something urgent, I presume?"

"Yes, father," he replies, pulling up a chair. "I'm afraid there might be some complications…."

"Complications?" Lucius parrots, sounding more intrigued than worried.

"Concerning Blaise Zabini."

"Go on." Lucius smirks. "What has the little worm done now?"

"He"—Draco chooses his words carefully—"has discovered something he shouldn't have, and given the… knowledge he gained through this, he could land me, as well as someone else, in a lot of trouble."

Lucius frowns. "Trouble? What kind of trouble? All your business dealings and charity involvements have been entirely above board, have they not?"

"Yes," Draco is quick to reply. "Yes. Of course. Everything is checked, double-checked, usually even quadruple-checked, just in case. You know how careful I always am, father!"

"Indeed I do. So to what are you referring? Your potions research? Was there some unfortunate mistake?"

"No, " Draco says. "Nothing like that. What Zabini found out and could use against me—probably _will_ use against me if he's not stopped in time—is of a more… personal nature."

"Ah." Lucius' smirk is almost triumphant. "And thus the proverbial cat leaps out of the imaginary bag. Pray tell, how did Zabini learn of your liaison with Harry Potter, Draco?"

Draco blinks. Twice. "D-Did Mother…?"

Lucius shakes his head slowly. "Your mother didn't breathe a word about it. Then again, she scarcely needed to."

Draco opens his mouth, then closes it again, not a clue how to react.

"Please don't gawp like that; terribly undignified," Lucius says. "Truly, it wasn't too hard to figure out: the smouldering and frankly nauseating looks you and Potter frequently gave one another, the guilty expression on Potter's face whenever he got caught staring at you… Also, kissing him in our rose garden, Draco? Not the wisest spot to pick. Not only isn't that a very discreet location, some of those plants are poisonous and Potter isn't the most graceful of people; things would not have ended well if he had tripped…"

Draco clears his throat. He's not blushing. He's too old for that—_Sweet Merlin, please let him be too old for that_—but he does feel quite embarrassed. Of course his father would have had to find out eventually, but surely not like this?

"So," Lucius continues, "how bad is it? What exactly did Zabini discover and how could he use it against you?"

"He"—Draco takes another deep, steadying breath—"made a Pensieve."

"Did he now? Of what?"

"He spied on Harry and myself and saw"—Draco swallows—"things he shouldn't have seen."

"Things? Come now, Draco, cut to the chase! Usually you're far more eloquent than this…"

"Things… of an intimate nature." Draco cringes inwardly; so much for not blushing.

"Ah," Lucius replies dryly. "And how did he happen to witness these 'things of an intimate nature'? Please don't tell me you and Potter were having it off on the Manor's front lawn…"

"N-No." Draco clears his throat. "Zabini looked through my bedroom window."

Lucius frowns. "Your bedroom window? How on earth did he get past the wards? And on a broom, no less… Quite odd that none of the elves noticed anything. They certainly would have raised the alarm."

Draco reaches into his robe pocket and pulls out three black feathers. "I have reason to believe," he says, placing them on the desk, "that Zabini is an Animagus."

Lucius picks up a feather and studies it carefully. "I see. Of course, these could be a rook's. We get all kinds of birds, on occasion even some exotic varieties that had the good sense to escape from the misguided Muggles who caged them…"

"They're not from a rook, father," Draco says. "I tested them, cast the spell I also use when I can't identify a particular animal-derived potions ingredient. Apparently, they come from an eagle, a Verreaux's Eagle to be precise; those birds are native to Africa and not seen in these parts…"

"Ah." Lucius nods to himself. "So, I take it you are here to see whether I could find out whether these feathers are linked to Zabini in some way?"

"Yes, and whether Zabini ever registered his Animagus; I could be wrong, but I really don't think he did… One of us would have known. I mean, if we were supposed to know, we wouldn't have heard the end of it."

"Quite." Lucius remains silent for a moment, deep in thought. "For your first question, Draco, I believe it wouldn't be too difficult for the Auror department to determine whether those feathers are Zabini's. About five years after the war, they did all kinds of tests, took all sorts of samples, even DNA—courtesy of that Muggleborn investigator—when Zabini and that merry widow of a mother of his were implicated in that arson case."

"Oh. Right." Draco frowns. "I'd forgotten all about that. Some storage facility in Leeds where a lot of war records were kept, wasn't it?"

"Precisely. The place burned down to the ground. Nothing was ever proved, of course, but they did both receive a good grilling and you know what the Auror department is like: they write everything down, right down to the daftest detail, and they never throw anything out. So, for once, their pedantic pencil-pushing ways might actually prove advantageous…"

Draco nods. "And Zabini's Animagus? Can we find out if he ever registered it?"

"I'll have one of my assistants get on to that straight away."

Draco smiles. "Thank you, father. Will you let me know as soon as you have some news, so I can confront Zabini if it turns out I'm right?"

Lucius shakes his head. "I suspect you are right, in fact I'm almost certain you are. I don't think you contacting him would be such a good idea, however."

Draco frowns. "What? Why not? I thought you agreed to—"

Lucius waves a dismissive hand. "I'd rather deal with him myself, Draco. For one thing, it's my property he trespassed upon—whether he did so as a human or an Animagus isn't even relevant where that's concerned—and for another, a reprimand from the Minister himself will hold far more weight than a threat from a former school chum, wouldn't you agree?"

Draco smirks. "Point taken."

"So, is there anything else? I also have a meeting to prepare for."

Draco shakes his head.

"You'd best be on your way, then. As soon as I've gathered enough information, I will Firecall Zabini and inform him of the vast unpleasantness that will be heading his way if he decides to cause trouble for you and Potter. Even if the Animagus theory proves to be false, a reason to re-open an old investigation is easily found if one looks hard enough, and I doubt he'd want to put himself, or his mother, through that again."

"Quite." Draco grins. "Speak with you later, then, father," he says, rising from his chair.

Just as he's about to turn the door knob, he hears Lucius call out, "One more thing, though…"

Draco turns around again. "Yes?"

"It's your life, and with whom you choose to share it is your decision, and I assume by now you're old enough to know what you're doing as well…"

Draco risks a small smile; this is probably the closest thing to a blessing his and Harry's relationship will ever get from Lucius.

"However," the man continues, in a slightly sterner tone, "if Mister Potter ever causes distress to our family in general, and to you or Scorpius in particular"—he pauses with a sneer—"rest assured that I won't hesitate to make his life…difficult, on both a personal and a professional level."

"I'll be sure to pass on that message, father," Draco says. Smiling, he walks out into the corridor and Portkeys back to the Manor.

Everything will work out for the better; he just knows it.


	29. Epilogue

Humming softly to himself, Harry saunters into the large kitchen of his and Draco's home. The cosy, picturesque cottage a few miles from the Cornish coast is ideal for the two of them, and also has plenty of space to accommodate the children when they come to stay.

Lily, Albus and Scorpius spend the major part of the school holidays with their respective fathers, whereas James only visits occasionally. He decided to settle for a career in journalism rather than law enforcement, although many considered the latter to be 'the obvious choice'.

James, however, saw no reason to follow in his father's footsteps. As far as he was concerned, the Potter family had done more than their fair share of helping the wizarding world, enough to last them a few generations at least.

Currently, he's doing an internship at Xenophilius Lovegood's latest venture, a small but ambitious magazine focusing solely on rare mythical creatures on the verge of extinction.

Many of his assignments take him abroad, and on one of his travels, he met a girl, a nature conservationist who's trying to preserve the Crumple-Horned Snorkack's recently discovered Norwegian breeding grounds.

Any spare time he has, he's eager to devote to her. The two of them are only friends at this point, but James hopes to date her as soon as he has a more stable future to offer; things at the magazine are going all right but not brilliantly with such a limited readership, so he doesn't have high hopes for a permanent position on its staff.

"Awake at last, are we?" Draco remarks with a grin, before taking another sip from his coffee.

Harry nods. "You could have woken me, you know," he says, sitting down across from him.

"Yes, I'm aware of that, but you're usually up by ten anyway, so I thought I might as well let you sleep in. It's not as though you have to be anywhere today, is it?"

"No," Harry replies with a small smile. "I don't."

After his sabbatical just over four years ago, Harry never did return to his old job. Instead, he requested to be transferred to a different department.

When he goes into the office these days, it's to assist aspiring Aurors with their training, to advise them and answer any questions they might have.

Harry no longer deals with unsolved cases of dark wizardry himself, or indeed with anything at all relating to the war.

This suits him perfectly. He's had enough of chasing villains. Not unlike his marriage to Ginny, it was what everyone had always wanted for him. He'd hoped, in time, that he'd come to want it for himself as well. Except, of course, in real life, things rarely work that way.

His current occupation is far better. He enjoys working with young people full of idealism and genuine enthusiasm. The hours are good, too, just sixteen per week, leaving him plenty of free time to enjoy his new life with Draco.

An elf walks in with a tray of eggs and soldiers, one of Harry's favourite breakfast dishes. "Thanks, Tiggy," Harry says. Grinning from one pointy ear to the other, the creature bows and disappears again.

A small white owl soars in through the open window, and drops the latest _Daily Prophet_ on the breakfast table.

Draco sighs. "Oh dear. How many more times do I have to tell these cretins that we have no desire to receive their rag? I don't care how many free copies they send us, hoping to get some juicy details of our private life. 'No' means _'no'_, damn it!"

With little interest, Draco picks up the paper and scans the front page. His eyes widen. Viktor Krum is grinning straight at him. The man looks smug after leading his team to its umpteenth Quidditch Victory. Next to him, stands a slim redhead, her expression equally victorious.

Draco smirks. "Well, well, well... If it isn't our little Ginevra, basking in someone else's limelight… again."

Harry blinks. "What?"

"Here," Draco says, tossing the paper in Harry's direction. "See for yourself."

Frowning, Harry studies the photo. It was taken after last night's match in Manchester. Harry didn't know Ginny would be attending that game, and he certainly wasn't aware that she'd struck up a _something-or-other_ with Viktor Krum.

But then he and Ginny don't really keep in touch, except to discuss the children. Not because there are hard feelings still lingering. It's not that. Instead, Harry supposes it's a case of no more feelings existing between them at all.

Looking back, he realises they'd been virtual strangers for the last few years of their marriage, and in truth, they no longer have a lot left to say to one another these days.

The divorce went through seamlessly, and after Lucius' little intervention—the details of which, to this day, remain a mystery to Harry and Draco—without any trouble from Blaise Zabini as well.

In fact, not long after he was summoned to the Minister's office that particular afternoon, Zabini disappeared without a trace.

Rumour has it that he's currently living in Marrakesh, supposedly making a living running a large luxury Muggle hotel, but no one knows for certain.

Harry, for his part, doesn't particularly care one way or the other, as long as the scheming wretch never bothers him or Draco again.

"Ginny's looking well," he remarks after a few moments' silence. "She seems happy."

"I should hope so," Draco says dryly. "If she's seeing Viktor Krum..."

Harry dips a piece of toast into an egg yolk, and can't help grinning. "Is that a hint of jealousy I detect there, Malfoy?"

Draco shakes his head. "Hardly. I no longer have any reason to be jealous of Ginevra, do I? You're _my_ husband now."

Harry smiles. "Point taken."

The two of them bonded a little over three years ago, in a private but nonetheless lavish ceremony in the Malfoy gardens. Lily was their bridesmaid, a task she carried out with great zeal. She even announced, "You two are next," to Albus and Scorpius, causing the former to blush profusely whereas the latter just smirked.

Although none of their staff had been invited, the wizarding newspapers wrote about the ceremony for weeks. Some headlines were more colourful than others, but every single one had been scrutinised by Lucius Malfoy's legal team long before it was allowed to hit the presses.

Of course, Lucius could have kept the news out of the papers completely had he wanted to, but he'd always been a firm believer that a little bit of notoriety never hurt anyone, and besides, once Lucius had got used to the concept, he decided that his son landing the great Harry Potter really wasn't such a bad thing, be it on a personal or a political level.

"So," Draco says, changing the subject, "what do you suppose we can expect from the Leaving Feast tomorrow?"

Harry shrugs. "The usual, I reckon: boring speeches that go on forever and a day, uncomfortable wooden chairs that'll result in us feeling like we've been trampled by a Hippogriff, hopefully some decent food at the end of it all... The chocolate cake they served when James got his diploma was scrumptious, wasn't it?"

"Hm. Next year, it'll be Lily's turn. Time flies… They're practically adults now."

Harry nods, then says—carefully, for he knows what a sensitive topic this is, "Pansy will probably be there, too, tomorrow."

Predictably, Draco sneers. "Yes, undoubtedly the ever-charming Mrs Longbottom will be hanging off her husband's arm. No matter, I've become quite proficient at ignoring those I prefer not to deal with."

Harry bites his lip. He knows from Neville, who has mentioned it on more than one occasion, how deeply Pansy misses her former best friend and how much she wishes that they could patch things up again. "Don't you suppose, though," Harry continues, "that after all these years, you could try to..."

"I could try to _what_, Potter?" Draco cuts him off sharply. "Pretend she's still worth my time? I think not."

Harry frowns. He always gets this type of reaction, but never any information, not even any hints, on what exactly happened to make Draco feel so much disdain towards someone he was once so fond of.

Today, for some reason, Harry isn't inclined to let the matter rest, though. Today, he will get to the bottom of this.

"You were all right with Goyle being your best man at our wedding," he points out. "You hadn't spoken to him in decades either…"

Draco grits his teeth. "I never had any falling out with Greg; we merely drifted apart after the war. Besides, whom else was I to ask? My father? That would have been rather bizarre, don't you think? Even for us?"

Harry smiles. Yes, Lucius as Draco's best man would have been more than a little odd after everything that had happened. Besides, Goyle did a pretty good job.

As, for that matter, did Ron Weasley.

To his credit, Ron had remained very collected and calm when he'd first learned of Harry's involvement with Draco Malfoy. Of course, his silence might have been due to shock, too. To this day, no one knows for certain, possibly not even Ron himself.

A few months later, however, he readily agreed to act as Harry's best man.

True enough, he still isn't too fond of Draco Malfoy, but if the ferret makes Harry happy, Ron isn't going to object, especially after that sordid business with Ginny. For a while there, Ron had wondered whether his best mate would ever recover.

"But Draco," Harry soldiers on, "that was all so long ago. She's a different person from the one she was at school. She changed after the war. I mean, for one thing, she wouldn't have looked twice at Neville if she hadn't, and besides, she—"

"She wanted to hand you over to the Da- to _Voldemort_, Potter!" Draco snaps, almost spitting out the words, for they infuriate him as much as the memory continues to do. "At the Battle of Hogwarts! Do you honestly expect me to forgive her for that?"

Harry blinks. Of all the reasons Draco might have had for turning his back on Pansy, he never imagined this would be one of them. Harry already realised it before today, of course he did, but now more than ever, it's blatantly obvious that Draco truly loved him back then. It was never a merely physical 'arrangement' like he'd assumed for so long.

Harry takes a deep breath. Draco seems to be waiting for some sort of reaction or response, so he says evenly, "I forgave her. I forgave everyone a long time ago, even my shitty relatives. I couldn't have moved on with my life if I'd had to carry all those grudges…."

Draco gives a wry smile. "Ah, but you're a gullible Gryffindor, Potter, noble to the core, logic be damned, whereas I'm a vindictive Slytherin. If you cross one of us…"

"Draco…" Harry sighs. "Please don't start that again. We're no longer at school, and we're not… We were never our Houses, damn it! And as for Pansy… Yeah, she did something stupid. But then so did I… So did you… In our own way, we were all struggling, trying to survive back then… It weren't ordinary circumstances. It was… pretty close to hell on earth. Honestly, don't you think she deserves another chance?"

Draco opens his mouth to protest, loudly and with conviction—the mention of Pansy Longbottom-Parkinson never fails to ruffle his feathers—but something about the sad, desperate look in Harry's eyes stops him.

"Fine," he mutters. "Fine. I'll be civil. For your sake. I won't ignore her completely, at least, or call her a treacherous, opportunistic wench."

Harry cracks a small smile.

"At least not to her face," Draco utters quietly, but it doesn't seem as though Harry has heard him because Harry continues, knowing by now when to change a subject, "It'll be good to see Hermione again. She hardly leaves the castle anymore, except to go to the Burrow at Christmas."

Draco bites back a grin. He never did tell Harry about Severus' re-appearance. Part of him wants to, part of him feels he really should, even— he suspects there's still some unfinished business between Harry and Severus, nothing bad, merely a wish on Harry's behalf to apologise to the man he misjudged for so long—but at the end of the day, the secret isn't Draco's to share.

Neither, for that matter, is the theory he has regarding Severus Snape and Hermione Granger. It's merely a theory, of course, a niggling suspicion if you will, and back at school he would have laughed loudly at the thought, and would have broadcasted it around the school just to check whether there was some truth to it, but here and now… The bookworm and the sarcastic professor don't seem such an unlikely pair. Besides, if Severus has at last found some happiness in his life, Draco can hardly begrudge him that; the man deserves it, after everything…

"Albus wrote me that he and Scorpius want to get a flat in London," Harry says, "so they'd be close to their uni."

"Yes." Draco refills his coffee cup. "I have just the place in mind. It's just come up for sale, and given its location, we may have to move quickly. So I'm showing it to them on Saturday. It's not too far from where they need to be, and it's fairly close to father's office as well, just in case there's ever an emergency…"

"I still can't believe it, you know. Al studying to be a Mediwizard. I mean, Scorpius wanting to open an apothecary makes sense. Potion crafting is in his genes… It's almost predictable"

Draco raises an eyebrow. "I'll have you know that my son is anything but that!"

Harry chuckles. "You know what I mean..."

"Hm. Well, he and Albus are perfectly capable, and they seem quite serious when it comes to their future. I'm certain they'll do well at whatever career they choose to pursue."

Harry nods.

"And who knows?" Draco remarks with a small grin. "Maybe Lily will get her wish some day, to be a bridesmaid at two Malfoy-Potter weddings."

"So you reckon they'll stay together, then?"

"Oh, they will if they know what's good for them."

Harry smiles. He reaches across the table, takes Draco's hand and links their fingers. It's bittersweet to consider all the wasted years between them, so he doesn't dwell on them. Instead, he focuses on all the time ahead and on the sense of peace he found when he divorced Ginny and moved here, to his new beginning.

These days, he no longer feels haunted by the past or by mocking dreams of what might have been. The ghosts have stopped chasing him, and the only shadow following on his heels is his own.


End file.
